


Hunt the Red Star

by JovialHarp5159



Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Blood and Violence, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Drug Use, Drugs, Hacker Tony Stark, M/M, Minor Character Death, Missions Gone Wrong, Multi, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Recreational Drug Use, References to Drugs, Romeo and Juliet References, Tags Are Hard, Weed, Work In Progress, overdose in future chapters, there will be mentions to heavy opiod use in future chapters, though non-lethal in nature
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-05
Updated: 2018-02-06
Packaged: 2019-02-28 16:24:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 29,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13275318
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JovialHarp5159/pseuds/JovialHarp5159
Summary: Steve's not... he's not a bad guy. he's patient, and longsuffering, and kind. he knows how to deal with problems when they arise. He sleeps good at night. he just happens to be a mob boss.Tony may not sleep so well, but he's comfortable in his conscience. he does bad things, but he does them to worse people. That isn't so bad.It was supposed to be a one night stand. One night. How did it go so wrong?





	1. All I ask of You

**Author's Note:**

> please. please. PLEASE. READ THE TAGS. this is a mob AU, so it's going to have references to mob things. 
> 
> Each chapter is titled for a song that was inspirational to me, when writing/editing!

It's loud, sweaty, and obnoxious in this club. Everyone here is vapid and airheaded, but Steve has appearances to make, so he smiles, and nods, and schmoozes, and sells a few dimebags, while he's at it. The drugs are good, this newest batch allowing for a softer body high, letting the mind wander. Steve would be partial to it himself, if he wasn't so carefully opposed to partaking of the product. Bucky did, and that was fine and well for him, but Steve had watched his lover complete one too many 12 step programs for comfort. The game isn’t exactly what it was six months ago either. there’d been a sudden dump of new drugs into the area, that no one could track back to a specific gang which meant more time in the lab for Bucky, trying to fine hone their competitive edge, and unpredictable side effects from anything that wasn’t theirs, signed and certified. It also meant more time for Steve, spent just like this, hawking their product where he could, and taking note of anyone who used to buy, turning up their noses. The blond slumps and takes another hit off of his pipe before staring back out over the floor, idly wondering where Bucky was.

 

He's only looking for about 15 seconds when he spots him; a lithe wiry thing that moved like poetry and grace itself. Steve's breath caught in his chest and his fingers twitched with the need to possess. He stared, captivated, and decided then and there to rise to his feet and go find him. With any luck, he’d be just as interesting to talk to as he was to watch, right, and it’s not like Steve’s exactly having fun ‘networking’. Once he got to the dance floor, almost of his confidence fled as he searched for the man he _knew_ he'd saw. The floor was full of writhing bodies, and the strobes were flashing obnoxiously, so no small wonder one guy got lost. Steve growled in quiet frustration. “damnit.”

**

Tony slipped off the dancefloor the second he caught glimpse of Clint over at the side of the room, heading the opposite direction, towards the bar. He knows that Clint has to have seen him, probably followed him here in the first place, checking up on him for Pepper or for Jessica, but his mental health isn't affecting the quality of the work he's doing, so it's none of their business. If he wants to get piss-drunk and jump the next thing that flirts with him, that's what he's going to do. He knows that there are drugs on the floor, knows he's _definitely_ outside Pepper's territory - hence why she's sent Clint, maybe not for a mental health check-up so much as ensuring that nobody grabs him on enemy ground - but he turns down anything he's offered. He doesn't particularly want to take home someone who's high, either, which is going to be easier said than done.

 

The bar's relatively empty compared to the floor, and Tony orders something pink and fruity that definitely has a higher percentage than anything Clint'll order. As expected, he's sat down on one of the free stools for all of two seconds when Clint sits down next to him, gives him a look, and places an order of his own. Gin. Tony resists the urge to make a face.

 

"There are plenty of nightclubs closer to your place," is what Clint voices first, and Tony can read between the lines. 'Closer to your place' is most definitely Clint's little way of saying 'inside our safe zone'. Tony shrugs, downs his drink in one when the bartender hands it to him, and leans over so he's speaking into Clint's ear. Easier than yelling over the music.

 

 "This one's more fun." With that, he pushes away from the bar and heads back towards the floor, manages to only have to push through a few people before he notices Karen. He gets shoved before he can quite reach her, smacks into someone's back and yells out an apology. It's more than a little unnerving that his full body weight was barely enough to shift a guy, but he's forced to stop where he stands when he realizes he's lost sight of Karen. Maybe she saw Clint, went to say hi.

 

Steve turns around, as soon as he's bumped, an angry comment on his lips, until he realizes he's face to face with the most gorgeous creature in the entire club (aside from Bucky, but he's in the back, working books for Sam who, bless his heart, can't balance finances for shit.) This _has_ to be the guy from before, he's the same build, same height, which is just a _touch_ shorter than his own, same carefully styled hair. But _damn_ is he something, up close. His eyes sparkle with an intelligence, and a danger that's more than a little intriguing. Steve's instantly hooked, and he's already pretty sure he's leaving with this guy, if he has anything to say about it. He smiles slow and easy and tilts his chin back in an assessing nod.

 

“Hey” Without thinking, Tony responds with what some people might consider a ‘meek’,

 

“Hi.” Clint would probably make fun of him if he’d heard it, given that not twenty-four hours ago Tony had been yelling instructions and locations at him and Luke over comms, making increasingly frustrated noises when the systems showed that Clint cut the wrong wire and that an alarm had been tripped, which he then had to figure out how to defuse remotely because apparently Clint couldn’t listen to orders unless they were from Pepper – even then, it’s rare. Not really his fault he sounds a little on the shy side, though. He’s not paying attention; still searching the crowd past the guy’s shoulder to see if he can catch glimpse of Karen. He knows Clint would never divulge to her what they both really do – even if he’s convinced that she’s not got as clean a record as it appears – but it’s still a worry. Most hitmen Pepper hires wouldn’t crack under the most brutal torture; Clint, on the other hand, only needs to knock a few drinks back before it all comes spilling out.

 

When he does decide he should probably pay attention to the guy he knocked into, he has to put effort into biting back about five different comments that come to mind. All inappropriate, and all things he’d regret in the morning. “Sorry. About bumping into you. Someone shoved me and I lost balance and—” He cuts himself off, stops the rambling before it can really begin. “I’m Tony.” Steve smirks again, before taking Tony's hand and kissing the back of it gently. It's a bold move, and it's a little odd for this situation, sure, in the middle of a dancefloor, but he's nothing, if not committed to his craft. He leans in close to Tony, using the thumping bass as an excuse to get close and speak right into his ear.

 

“did you see would pushed you? I’ll have to thank them” He winks when he pulls back, and yeah, ok, maybe that's a little over the top but he's not going to apologize, he's just going to shrug and play it off. The smile he gives Tony is somehow both charming, and predatory. “Tony.” He says it back slowly, with just the hint of a rasp, letting his voice drop an octave or two. “I’ll have to remember that.” he says thought fully, playing with Tony's fingers, idly, because he’s still holding his hand. He leans in again, under the guise of saying something private, and nips ever so gently at Tony's earlobe before growling out; “might be saying it later.”

 

 

Tony’s not stupid and he’s certainly not piss-drunk (yet), so he’s more than a little suspicious that somebody’s being so forward given that they’ve literally just met. He’s used to guys flirting right away – in places like this, they never really seem to want to waste any time, like Tony’s going to be distracted by a stray butterfly or something – but the flirting usually starts out more…subtly than this. A smile here a too-fake-laugh at something that definitely isn’t a joke there. Kissing his hand and talking about bed…Tony’s simultaneously turned on and terrified. His first thought is that Clint’s sent the guy over, or that he knows him somehow and has paid him in advance to do this, maybe as a joke to teach Tony about staying within the safe zone. That’s dismissed when he chances a glance over to the bar and sees Clint talking with Karen, not paying any attention to the floor.  Second thought is that this is somebody who wants to murder him – he’s not quite sure how anybody would’ve gotten hold of who he is and what he really does though – and third is that maybe this is real. Or as real as a one night stand can get.

 

“Might be,” Tony agrees, voice verging on a purr that he prays is audible over the music. “Think we should go somewhere a little more private, though. You got a name?” There’s the slightest pause, and Tony leans ever so slightly closer, pressing a kiss to the guy’s jawline. “Kinda want to know whose name I’m gonna be moaning.”

 

As soon as tiny mentions somewhere more private, Steve's brain kicks into overdrive. He’s insanely lucky that any of this worked out, didn’t end up with a drink in his face, or insults lobbied his way. He takes a half a second of personal time to marvel at the gods smiling on him, and then every non necessary brain function is quickly diverted to trying to figure out where they can go. There's the office but Bucky and Sam are in there running numbers, and that's not exactly romantic. There's the vip lounge, but it's closed off and unlocking it with the key he has is _definitely_ going to make him look suspicious. Enough people see him pulling rank, unlocking doors that should stay locked, the dots are gonna start getting connected and his cover’s gonna get blown.   So he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his keys (car, because it's cold as sweet holy _fuck_ and what fun is the motorcycle when you can't feel any of your body parts?) and smiles. “Steve.” He leans in close again, presses a few kisses to Tony's neck and takes a moment to growl into his ear. “So Tony, your place or mine?”

 

Tony takes a few seconds to run through everything that could go wrong if he decides they should go back to his place: There’s the gun taped to the back of the bedside table in case anyone tries to break in, he doubts they’d be moving the bedside table for any reason, but it’s still a risk; there’s the ever-present threat of Rhodey dropping by to check in on him because apparently relapsing into old habits means constant supervision; and he’s pretty sure that he left half his computers on before he left the warehouse – not to mention that he co-habits the place with Logan because rent isn’t exactly cheap (can’t use your father’s credit cards when you’re trying to live off the grid, apparently), and he has no idea where the guy plans on being tonight. Sure, the warehouse puts enough space between them that they never really cross paths aside from in the designated communal areas, but he doesn’t want to risk it. “Your place,” he says after a second, looking over to the bar again to ensure that Clint’s attention is still on Karen. Both of them are gone, but he has more important things to worry about. So, he grabs Steve’s hand and tugs him through the crowd, towards the exit, only stopping once they’re outside and he can breathe without the fog machines they have at the side of the floor suffocating him. He turns to look up at Steve, raises an eyebrow. “Live far from here?”

 

Steve pauses for a minute or two, considering again. There are a few places that he could take Tony, a few safe houses out here, but in all honesty, they're near the edges of their territory and Steve's afraid of outing himself by getting any closer to their center of their operations. Anonymity was key when picking up one night stands (he figured, he really doesn't do this often) and getting his cover blown as a fucking mobster was probably a pretty good way to scare Tony away, and that would be a _damn_ shame. Steve briefly considers taking him to his actual house, but he knows Bucky would string him up for all of the neighbors to see, if he did, so he sighs, and makes a split-second decision to take him to the apartment over the gallery. It was kind of his pet project, and honestly a fair bit more personal than he would usually want to get, but Tony's too intoxicating to turn down, and he's not about to pay for a hotel, because that screams 'sleeze’. He smiles winningly and winks, hitting the fob to unlock his Camaro, the low-key car, and holds the door open for Tony.

 

“Further than I want to wait, but not too far to survive.” There's a little voice in the back of Tony's head telling him that he should be far more wary of the situation at hand than he is. Out of all his one night stands in recent months, he doesn't think there's been once that they haven't used a cab to get from one location to the next, because he's pretty used to being about as wasted as his partner and neither of them are generally in any state fit to drive. Who even owns a car in New York, anyway? He can't think of anyone in his friendship group that does, though work's definitely a different story - need to move product somehow, and cabs aren't great for subtlety. Regardless of any worries - thank you, alcohol - he grins, presses a kiss to Steve's cheek before he gets in the car with a,

 

 "Think that'll tide you over til we get there." His mind's running a mile a minute as Steve shuts the car door for him, and he has to wonder if they'll actually make it to Steve's place or rather wind up in the backseat. Usually, Tony would cringe at the idea of something so 'teenage', something that screamed of impatience, but drunk Tony has ideas of his own on what he does and doesn't like, and the fact that they're both still dressed at this point falls firmly into the 'doesn't like' category. He feels his phone buzz a few times in his back pocket, decides to ignore it for the night. Probably only Clint.

 

Steve laughs quietly, and moves around the car dropping to the driver's seat heavily. Tony's something else, all teasing and flirty, and his energy is contagious. Steve turns the key in the ignition, and it thrums to life with a quiet purr, vibrating with potential underneath them. The stereo immediately kicks to life, loudly blaring some ridiculously popular trap song, and Steve sneers at it angrily. Thank you, James. He reaches to flip it to something less awful, but it gets to the chorus, and it turns out this particular song isn't actually that bad. He and Bucky have definitely fucked to it, in the kitchen island, if memory serves, or maybe it was the bathroom… he shakes his head and wills the thoughts away, because thinking of fucking your significant other while you're in the car with your recently procured one-night stand seems...tacky. at best. He looks up in the rear view, and his blue eyes meet Tony's brown ones.

 

“Hold on tight, doll.” He shifts the car into drive, and pulls away from the curb. There's this myth that—well, it's not exactly a myth. There's this _idea_ that traffic is impossible to navigate in New York, that it's all constantly gridlocked traffic, taxis all honking at each other, and joggers running past them like they're standing still. And that's certainly true of rush hour, but this is an off time, and the weather's shit, no one wants to be out in this, so the roads are relatively clear. Steve's able to get to a pretty good speed, something definitely illegal, so they're back at the loft in now time, and his body's already thrumming with excess adrenaline. He parks and pulls the door open for Tony, smiling devilishly. “Fun ride?”

 

Tony's not the best with car journeys at certain times, is pretty sure his body now has an automatic response of dosing him with adrenaline if he's travelling faster than a certain speed - one too many firefights where he's stuck in the passenger seat of Clint's car certainly make an impression on a guy - and he's more than a little shocked in his less than sober state that he's not sporting any bullet wounds. There are a few scars that he's definitely not excited for Steve to see, because Steve seems virtually flawless and Tony's volunteered himself as bait one too many times in recent months. The bruises are all long gone, but the various scars - bullet, knife, electrical wire - remained. Tony steps out of the car and reaches up to pull Steve down into another kiss. It's late enough and cold enough that, for once, he's not overly concerned about someone seeing him. When they pull back from each other, it takes more effort than Tony'd care to admit to stop himself from panting, instead glancing behind Steve and raising an eyebrow at the building that greets him.

 

"You live above an art gallery?" His first immediate question about that is whether or not it means that Steve likes art, or whether it's a place bought merely out of convenience - cheap rent or the like. He doesn't exactly know why it feels important, but Jessica's always talking about trusting gut instincts and curiosity, so he does that. "I'll be honest, didn't imagine someone who looks like you having an interest in art."

 

 

Steve doesn't think he's ever had the breath kissed out of him, but he's pretty sure that's exactly what just happened. Tony's an exceptional kisser, all soft lips and dangerously quick tongue that knows exactly where to touch by the time they're breaking apart, Steve's forced into blinking harder than he'd like, just to see the world straight. He smiles sheepishly, and leads the way up the small staircase on the side of the building, the one that leads directly to the small, if lavish apartment he uses, when a hit carries him this far out, or if Bucky's being an asshole. Or he's being an asshole.

 

 “Awh c’mon Tony, everyone's gotta have hobbies.” He carefully doesn’t say that he loves here, because that’s a lie, and lying’s the last thing he wants to do to Tony. For reasons he still doesn’t quite understand. He also fails to mention that half of the art is his, because really, does it matter? It's not like he wants to actually /date/ this guy right? This is about pure attraction, a quick fuck with a pretty guy he met in a club. That easy. He throws open the door, and steps back allowing Tony to head in before he does. The apartment is clean, and blissfully devoid of all weapons and drugs, for once. Steve smiles gently, self-deprecatingly “Home sweet home.” Tony turns back around to face Steve, presses another kiss to his cheek because it's ridiculously difficult to say no to what his body wants to do when he's like this. There's also the unfortunate fact that he recently realized - or, it was pointed out to him by Logan and Karen - that he's a stupidly tactile person when he hasn't been drinking, and any alcohol seems to just increase that want tenfold.

 

"I like it," he says quietly, before he pulls away from Steve and heads a little further into the room. Despite a few of his initial fears about this being a set-up for a hit, the apartment definitely looks like it's lived in, and doesn't look unlike how Logan's decorated his section of the warehouse. Granted, there's a little more light in here, a combination of streetlights from outside and the lights from the apartment itself, but still. There's also a distinct lack of gym equipment, but, hey, Tony's not complaining about that. He turns around to face Steve again as he tugs his shirt up over his head, because it's reoccurred to him that they're both still wearing clothes and, really, that's a shame. There are enough scars littering his torso to make anyone wary, but he knows that most of his hook-ups don't really question it, and those that do get the honest truth about where a few of the scars came from - accidents in the workshop, an intern fucking something up in the chemistry lab and making the place ignite, general clumsiness. He smiles, hopes it doesn't look too self-conscious. "Bedroom?"

 

Steve's eyes roam hungrily over Tony's now exposed chest, and he feels the exact instant that his mouth goes dry. Some of the scars he's noticing are pretty bad, a few that look like they might have been taken care of at home. not that alarming, given the state of the healthcare system these days. One scar looks like it might be a gunshot scar, but hey, who the hell is he to judge, he thinks, self-consciously touching along his own stomach. He actively focuses on putting those thoughts aside, and nods, tugging his hoodie and t shirt off all at the same time, as he steps towards Tony, crowding him toward the bedroom. “God, yes” he growls, a mere second before pulling him in for a rough needy kiss.


	2. With You, Friends (Long Drive)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> there's a difference in cerebral and corporeal. there are lines in the sand, that can't be blurred, one isn't the other, they can't be compared. This is a one night stand, it's purely about sex. so, why does it hurt like this? why does it feel like Tony's held the broken parts of Steve in his hands, the parts no one else can see?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we added some additional tags for this chapter, check that out. This weeks (which, speaking of, this is hella late, strep throat is a bitch!) chapter title is named for a song that's like hauntingly beautiful for the type of scene that this is. I really suggest you listen to it! 
> 
> feel free to scream at me on tumblr @thejovialkynnadyg-ray.

There's a surprised, pleased little noise in the back of his throat before Tony can really think twice about it. He kisses back immediately, hands finding Steve's hips and using the beltloops on his jeans to pull him closer, press the both of them closer together. There's a pleasant mixture of electricity and energy building at the base of his spine, and it takes everything in him to hold back a needy whine. Instead, when he breaks off the kiss, he goes straight for kissing down Steve's neck, a teasing nip here and there for good measure. He lets out a huff when the back of his knees hit the mattress and he goes down, pulling Steve down with him. "Jeans," he says between kisses, hoping that Steve'll understand what he's saying. Sure, their shirts are off, but their shirts aren't exactly the item of clothing that's preventing what he wants to happen.

 

Steve makes an annoyed little sound of agreement, and nods without breaking the kiss. He rolls his hips against Tony's and in the next instant, he's reaching to fumble with the snap and zipper of his jeans. Once they're open, he struggles with them for a second or two, before finally, mercifully, getting them off and kicking them somewhere ...else. His boxers aren't doing shit to hide his interest, and that's almost embarrassing, until Tony makes another of those quiet, barely there sounds. It's enough to spur Steve back into movement. he reaches forward with shaking hands, opening Tony's jeans, and ripping them down. Tony's underwear get caught up in the process and get tugged off as well, but Steve can't exactly bring himself to complain, when he gets a first real look at Tony. He's gorgeous, and Steve growls lowly in the back of his throat, before dropping to his elbows, and licking at Tony's cock, from base to tip.

 

Steve’s action, the friction against his cock, is enough to pull a moan out of Tony from where it had been resting comfortably behind his ribs. He’s vaguely aware that he’s already being louder than he’d usually be, but it’s a little difficult to hold back when someone who looks like Steve does knows what to do with his mouth – most guys Tony’s met are far more interested in just fucking him, and Tony’s not complaining about that, but it’s still nice to have a change of pace. He resists the urge to push up against Steve, as maddening as it is. When he speaks, it comes out breathless, like someone’s stolen the air from his lungs. He supposes that Steve has, in a way. “Want you—Want you inside me.”

 

 

 

Tony's words go straight to Steve's cock, and it jumps and strains against his boxers. Tony moans so prettily though, he isn't quite ready to break contact and pull his underwear off, and start the mad grab for lube and condoms. He leans forward the tiniest bit, and sucks the head of Tony's cock into his mouth, swirling his tongue around it, before sitting back up. He smiles impishly down at Tony as he reaches over to the nightstand and fumbles around, grabbing until he comes up with a strip of condoms, and a bottle of lube. He briefly considers asking Tony to get himself ready for the sake of time alone but that sounds tacky even in his own head, so he refrains. He lays the condoms on the pillow next to Tony, and flips the cap open on the lube, dousing two fingers and dropping to an elbow, to rub gentle fingertips across his asshole. He looks up often, wanting to see every expression on the brunettes face, as he works in one finger, then two. Shortly after he gets the second finger in, he crooks them both, hitting Tony's prostate roughly.

 

 

Tony’s vision lights up for a second, and he knows that he makes a noise closer to a yell than a moan. Feels it work its way out of his throat, more than he actually hears himself. He wasn’t exactly expecting that. Probably should have been, given that it’s kind of the goal, but Steve’s managing to maintain control of himself, seems to be keeping the majority of his movements slow, just on the wrong side of torturously so. To be caught off-guard with a quick movement like that…it’s something. He whines when the feeling starts to ebb, pushes himself down against Steve’s fingers so that they can hurry along and he can get Steve inside of him. Patience was never really one of the virtues he possessed, but he can see Steve’s cock through his boxers and nobody could really blame him for being a little antsy in this situation.

 

“You know,” he says, and he sounds more wrecked than he should this early on, “when I—when I said I want you inside me, I meant, like, five minutes ago.” He doesn’t even bother trying to bite back his next moan. “C’mon, Steve,” he adds, verging on a whine, rolling his hips as if to prove a point, “’m ready. Promise. I _need_ you to fuck me.”

 

Steve knows a stronger man would argue. a more patient man would insist on getting to three fingers, but he isn't stronger, or more patient. He's weak and needy, and he can feel the wet spot on the front of his boxers growing, and he's pretty sure he's already half out of his mind with need. He leans back and hooks his thumbs into his boxers before dragging them off and tossing them into the floor.

 

"damn, Tony, impatience looks good on you." He growls before he reaches for a condom with shaking hands and rips it open, rolling it on as fast as he possibly can. He's a little shaky with the lube, so there ends up being a bit of a mess but it isn't like he can't afford to fucking replace the bedding, so he chooses to ignore it for now. He crowds into Tony's space, and kisses the breath out of him, before lining his cock up and pushing in slowly.

 

The most Tony manages to stammer out is a strained, “Fuck,” when Steve actually starts pushing in. He’d half been expecting to be told that he’d have to wait, that it’s better to be properly prepped, that he needs to learn some patience; he’s slightly relieved to know that Steve’s about as patient as he is, even if he knows this thing’s only lasting for a night and then they’ll never see each other again. He guesses it’s a shame, but knows that Pepper wouldn’t want him dating someone this far out for safety reasons. He tries to focus on the pleasure rather than the pain that accompanies the stretch, rolls his hips a little to encourage Steve to push in farther, let him know that he’s alright and not being hurt. When Steve stops moving, Tony lets out a breath he wasn’t aware he’d been holding, and focuses on his breathing for the next couple of seconds, waiting until he’s used to the feeling of Steve inside him. It’s not exactly difficult to bend, push up and pull Steve down for another kiss, this one less coordinated than the others, but he’s gentler. When Tony breaks it off, he wriggles a little. There isn’t much pain with the movement, so he gives a slight nod, glances up to meet Steve’s eyes. “I’m good. You can—You can start moving.”

 

Steve huffs out a quiet breath, and drops his forehead to rest against Tony's. “Thank fuck” he manages quietly, before his hands trail down the brunettes body, and still at his hips, gripping tightly and holding him in place while he rolls his hips forward slowly at first, then with building speed. It's good it's so good, Tony's all tight wet heat, even with the damping effect of the condom, and Steve can't help but to moan quietly into the airspace they share. Tony's eyes are open, which, for some reason, is surprising to Steve. He can't bring himself to question it too much though, because they're beautiful, they're alive, almost, with a sparkle that's truly enchanting. Steve almost rolls his eyes at himself, because it figures he'd get all poetic during a one-night stand.

 

It’s getting more and more difficult to keep himself quiet with Steve building speed, but Tony can’t exactly say that he minds. Still, he’s wary of any neighbors – the last time he’d brought someone back to the warehouse, Logan had used very colourful language the following morning to describe what he’d do if he had to listen to Tony being fucked again – so he pushes himself up on his elbows, reaches out with one hand to pull Steve back down for another kiss. Usually there wouldn’t be much of that with his one-night stands, Tony thinks. The kissing. It’s…It’s always been an oddly personal thing for him, and this is stepping into uncharted territory that isn’t as terrifying as he’d imagined it would be. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s been drinking, or maybe it’s because – despite conceding to Tony’s wishes to hurry the prep – Steve does seem to be checking on how Tony’s doing whenever they’re not in the middle of a kiss, and that’s…rare. Tony breathes out a moan against Steve’s lips when he brushes against his prostate, and he tries to angle his hips so that it’s easier for Steve to hit it again. Part of him wishes that the night lasts a little longer than they usually do, but he knows that there isn’t any way to alter time, knows that this was what he was looking for in the bar, after all: just a one-night stand. He also knows that Clint’ll smack him upside the head if he starts falling for a guy after one night, and he wants to retain as many brain cells as possible, so he shuts down any of those traitorous thoughts, focuses on the present.

 

Steve's moans are ratcheting up in volume right alongside Tony's and god knows the telltale slap of skin on skin is none too quiet either. Steve’s not exactly used to holding himself back though, so it's no problem for him. he doesn’t have any neighbors in this part of town, sandwiched in by a coffee bar, on one side, and a tax preparation place on the other. Given that it’s some ungodly hour, he’s seriously doubting that there’s anyone occupying either space.

 

 Hes not expecting the kiss that Tony pulls him into, and it's dizzying for several seconds. When Tony moans against his mouth, he can't help but to smile softly. “Yeah? Right there?” He thrusts forward again, a rough snap of the hips, hoping to pull a reaction from the lithe man under him. He sucks Tony's bottom lip between his teeth, and bites down softly, just enough to add a layer of sensation.

 

“C’mon, Tone, tell me what you like. Tell me how ta fuck ya.” His accent slips through, accidentally, and he'd be embarrassed about it, if he had more capacity to care.

 

Tony doesn’t miss the nickname, not by a long-shot. He could have been drunk off his ass and he still would have snapped to attention at that, because while kissing and reverent, concerned looks and more attention than necessary are one thing, nicknames are another entirely. He’s known Clint for seven years, and not _once_ has the guy called him anything other than Tony or Stark. Unless it’s an insult. And the only other people who call him Tone – or Tones, depending on the situation – are Rhodey and Pepper. He also catches the accent, manages to moan out a curse and then a, “Hot,” before he’s kissing Steve again, far more desperate and passionate than before. He doubts that he’ll be able to come without a hand around his cock, but he can feel the tightness in his abdomen growing nonetheless. It’s only once he’s broken away from Steve for air that he realizes Steve asked him a question – sort of, given that it was more of an order – and his mind catches up to everything else.

 

 “I like it rough,” he says, and hopes that the blush creeping up his neck can be passed off as a result of the kissing. “I want you to push me, until I think I can’t take it. And then I want you to push me more.”

 

Steve not exactly sure what he's expecting Tony to say, but… it isn't that. That's… kind of the best news he's heard all day. He's been holding himself back, afraid of hurting the lithe brunette, but hearing that he _likes_ it rough? Steve can't turn down that invitation. He pulls back, just long enough to manhandle Tony, to hook his legs over his shoulders, and grab his hips between bruising hands. He tugs him back, until he's sinking back into his body, and the resistance is still there, but it's so _so_ much less this time. Steve moans loudly as he sinks to he hilt in Tony, and his fingers squeeze desperately at his hips, harshly looking for an anchor. It’s only a few seconds, before Steve is pounding into Tony, each thrust a punishment, every one angled perfectly over the sensitive lump of nerves that is his prostate. Steve growls lowly, at the muffled sounds Tony’s mewling into his ear.

 

“Don't hold back, baby. Moan for me. _Scream_ for me.”

 

 

Tony doesn’t need to be told twice, throwing a few incoherent curses in between his moans, because Steve’s just started and already it’s almost too much. From the way he’d been acting since they arrived at the apartment, he’d expected the blonde to have certain worries and concerns, to not push farther than he thought Tony could handle, to be afraid of hurting him. So to be repositioned so quickly after he said the words, be manhandled so easily like his weight was nothing to Steve, it was more than a bit of a turn-on, something much more like a wet dream come true. The sudden attention to his prostate will quickly become tinged with pain, even if he doesn’t come, and he’s well aware of that, but he finds he definitely wants it. He’s switching between moans and whines and full-on screams as he tries to take Steve deeper with each thrust, moving as much as he can in this position. He wants nothing more than to reach down and jerk himself off, but Steve hasn’t made any moves to pay his cock – lying heavy against his stomach – any more attention, and Tony’s not sure if he’s allowed to do it himself. Part of him also wants to make this last as long as possible, and he’d be lying if he didn’t say that the thought of Steve coming but leaving him pent up and frustrated without release wasn’t slightly appealing.

 

Regardless, he chances wrapping his hand around his cock, moaning at the relief that the mere touch alone provides him with. “Think I’m—” He’s cut off by a noise somewhere between a whine and a moan, and the rest of his sentence is just on the cusp of frantic. “Think I’m close, Steve.”

 

 

Steve growls lowly, near possessively, and bats at Tony's hand, where it's wrapped around his cock. It's not that he doesn't want the brunette to come, God, does he ever, it's just that… he doesn't want him to have to be the one to take care of himself. As soon as Tony's hand is out of the way, Steve's hand replaces it, moving smoothly up and down the shaft, his thumb dragging over the head lazily, and adding that bit of slickness to the motion. He looks up to Tony's eyes, wanting to check that everything's still alright, as he continues to roll his hips quickly. “Want you to go first, babe. Wanna see you come for me.”

 

Tony whines, shifts a little, torn between pushing up into Steve's hand and pushing down onto his cock. One of Steve's hands is still firmly holding him by the hip, anyway, so it's not like he can move enough to help himself by any large amounts - not that Steve's not doing enough by himself, either, because Tony knows that he's going to be feeling this every time he sits down for the next week. But the look Steve gives him, the little check-up to ensure he's doing okay, the pet name, and everything else that's happened between them tonight is most definitely becoming too much. Steve saying it, giving him permission is what tips him over the edge. He comes with a cry, fingers of one hand tangling into the sheets and the other digging into Steve's bicep. His vision doesn't just light up, but completely whites out, and he feels his head go fuzzy with static for a second or two before he's brought back to reality by the fact that Steve's still thrusting in him, and that he hasn't exactly slowed down any.

 

"Want you to come inside me," Tony says, and he sounds about as blissed-out as he feels. He knows Steve can't actually, because they're using protection, but his thoughts are coming from a place of instinct now, and his instinct wants nothing between them. " _Please_ , sweetheart."

 

Tony's face is so gorgeous. He looks lost to pleasure and feeling, and it's a _damn_ good look on him. His face is lax and open and his entire body goes soft. If the feeling of being inside him wasn't enough to push Steve over the edge, looking at him like that would be. Steve stills and his hips stutter in their movement for a moment, while his right hand comes up to cup against Tony's face. his thumb strokes over the high, sculpted cheekbone there, twice, while he stares deeply into animated brown eyes. The moment is overly tender, and Steve knows, as it happens that he's gotten in way too fucking deep, for a one-night stand, but he can't write bring himself to pull away.

 

He gasps, and feels his whole body tense, as he tips over the edge, into orgasm. He lets out a loud breath, something that sounds exactly like a shattered benediction of 'Tony’, and his hips still, as he feels the condom grow warm with his release. He realizes two things in the next moment, that he's shaking all over, like a nervous teen, and that he's nestled his forehead against Tony's, both of them gasping in the same air.

 

Tony brings his hands up to cup Steve's face gently, pull him into another soft kiss, and he can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes he is well and truly screwed - in more than just a literal sense. He wants to be able to soothe Steve's nerves, assure him that whatever has him shaking isn't worth worrying about, but he can't find any words in him to do so. His legs have fallen off Steve's shoulders, and instead he wraps them around his waist, uses his weight - and the fact that Steve's gone remotely compliant from his orgasm - to move them slowly, until Tony's on top of Steve, straddling him. He leans down, presses another quick kiss to his lips before he moves to his cheeks, his nose, his forehead. He knows he's being overly tender about it, but Steve's shaking is lessening gradually, so it's fine, he reasons. It's worth it if it's doing something to reassure the blonde. Tony might not know what worries he's assuaging, but that doesn't mean he isn't going to do it nonetheless.

 

"You're okay," he says, voice barely above a whisper. "You're okay, Steve, I've got you. 'm gonna move now, okay?" And he lifts himself off Steve's cock slowly, for both of their sakes, so he doesn't hurt himself or push Steve to the uncomfortable side of over-stimulated. The second he's off, he lies down on the bed next to him, leaning back in to kiss him again. "You're okay," he repeats, even quieter this time. "We're okay."

 

Tony's being… so tender. So overwhelmingly, wonderfully, _beautifully_ tender, that Steve catches himself actually closing his eyes to hold back tears. Tears. From sex. Not pain tears. Steve's body has officially pulled a mutiny on him, and he's being controlled by his emotions, while his reasoning, thinking side walks the plank. He can see it now.

 

Tony's so sweet though, and so careful about the way he pulls off, Steve can't help but feel his heart swoop just a little, and he smiles, dopily. “Yeah. Yeah I'm ok. It was just…” he smiles softly and his eyes sparkle with _something_. “Intense.”

 

 

Tony huffs out a chuckle at that, rolling over so that he's lying on his back, giving himself a chance to get his bearings, maybe try to talk himself out of falling for a stranger after one night. See, this is where Clint usually comes in handy - always knows how to talk people out of making dangerous, foolish decisions, all the while making worse ones himself. Or even Karen. Karen would give him one of her looks, and Tony would see the logical side to this, that there's no way he's falling for a guy after one night. It's not...It shouldn't be possible.

 

"You're not the one who's gonna have difficulty sitting for a week," he mutters, though there's a teasing lilt to his tone that should let Steve know he isn't actually bothered by this. He'll _be_ bothered if Pepper catches on, sure, but that's because she'll try to run background checks on Steve and that never ends well. "It was a good intense though. Didn't really think you had a secret accent - that's pretty hot."

 

Steve blushes lightly, and isn't that fucking bizarre, to start blushing now? “Yeah, uh. Born and raised in Brooklyn. It's not usually bad, but uh. Slips out every now and then.” And in that one sentence, Tony already knows more about him, the _actual_ him, than anyone else besides Bucky. Normally, he keeps things professional lets people see 'the Captain’ not Steve. He sighs quietly, and rolls to lay on his side, reaching over and pulling Tiny into a loose hold. He's adamant that its not a cuddle, just a way to conserve body heat. “You ok? Went kinda...went kinda rough. You need anything? Advil, shower?”

 

Tony presses himself closer to Steve, turns his head so that he can speak to Steve instead of to the ceiling.

 

"Can shower in the morning," he says, and it takes everything in him to bite back a yawn. "And, for the record, I'm twenty-six, not sixty-two; I'll be right as rain in the morning." He might need painkillers for the inevitable hangover in the morning, but that's a different story entirely. He's also not entirely sure how many people he's given his real age to, usually hitting as high as he thinks he can with thirty to thirty-three, and even those earn him some raised eyebrows. That's why he tends to stay behind the metaphorical curtain when it comes to missions. Well, that, and Howard Stark's son isn't supposed to be associated with the mob.

 

"Also, for the record," he adds, turning properly so that he can rest his head against Steve's shoulder, and his words are nothing more than a mumble, "I like the accent. It's cute."

 

Steve laughs quietly, before pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Tony's head. Being with him is… easy. Frighteningly so, and it feels too much like all those years ago, coming to terms with his feeling for Bucky. Thinking of the enforcer now, hurts his chest. It’s a tiny bit like a knife, like the sharp burn of betrayal, but he pushes past it and smiles at the pretty young thing, in his bed. He’s allowed this, he reminds himself. The relationship is open.

 

“Hmm, you're a year older than me then.” His voice comes out much thinner and raspier than he wants it to, and he distracts from it, by tracing over a scar on Tony's collarbone. It looks nasty, like it may have been a bullet hole. Steve smiles softly, in sympathy. “Looks like it hurt.” He keeps his voice low, judgement free.

 

Tony doesn't have to look to know which scar he's referring to, though he doubts he can give the real story behind it without completely blowing his cover, and that's not something he wants to do, not even if Steve is earning his trust a lot faster than anyone else has. Except maybe Rhodey.

 

"It did," he concedes with a slight nod, and he doesn't make any moves to get away from Steve. That's certainly a warning sign - even in the medical bay, Rhodey and Claire are the only ones allowed to go anywhere near his injuries and scars. "Some guys thought they could kidnap Howard Stark's son for ransom," he says, and he wants to shrug the words off. It hadn't been his first kidnapping, and he's not sure if he's safer now with The Hunt. "Guess they wanted to scare me a little, or teach dad what would happen if he didn't pay." He's got scars from that, sure, a few down his back and one across his calf, but the bullet hole isn't from that. Still, telling Steve he was in a firefight is going to raise some questions.

 

One of Steve's eyebrows quirks up at that.

 

“Tony Stark. thought you looked familiar.” he's happy enough to let it die there, because his fascination with the gorgeous creature in front of him has sweet fuck all to do with his relation to mad gazillionaire Howard Stark. He allows his fingertips to trail back down Tony's body, resting over his hip, where a thumb gently strokes over the protrusion of bone there.  “You're gorgeous.” He whispers quietly, before leaning in for a lingering kiss. “And you're lucky you're not sixty-two, because I'm far from done with you tonight.”

 

Tony manages to hold back the noise he wants to let out at that, instead settling on a smile before he leans forward to kiss Steve again, only breaking off when he knows the need for oxygen is becoming too urgent.

 

"Very romantic, Steve," he says. There's no heat behind the statement, and his grin should be more than enough of a hint that he's joking. "Think I need another few minutes though," he adds, resting his forehead against Steve's shoulder. The alcohol has the unfortunate effect of making him sleepy - a tipsy Tony is a tired Tony - but he's fully willing to fight against the urge to shut his eyes and surrender to the dark if it means he gets to spend longer with Steve. A little loss of sleep sounds worth it.

 

Steve smirks softly, and presses gentle kisses against Tony's cheek.

 

 “Mm. The _most_ romantic, darling.” He pulls back, and bats his eyelashes sarcastically. The laugh that follows is light and carefree in a way it hasn't been, in a while. One of his hands settles on Tony's cheek, and he smiles slowly. “'s ok to sleep if you want. I won't be _too_ offended.” And he really won't, he tells himself. Sad, sure, because this… this _thing_ between them, that seems to defy all of the logical rules of every one night stand that's ever existed, demands savoring-- but never offended. “I've got some work to look over, if you want a nap?” He suggests lightly.

 

Tony moves to press a kiss to Steve's nose, thinking the offer over. He doesn't particularly want to take a nap, wants to get as much out of the night as he can because he knows that they'll be parting ways tomorrow, and that he probably won't run across Steve again. At the same time, a thirty-minute power-nap doesn't sound too bad, would probably allow him to sleep off at least a little of the alcohol.

 

"Just give me, like, thirty minutes," he says, voice quiet. He knows as soon as he's said it that there's no taking it back, that his body's recognized the signal to get rest. "And then wake me up. I _might_ try to kick you, so, uh, be prepared for that?" He doesn't bother asking what Steve's work is, exactly, because he figures that if Steve wanted him to know, he would say. And the warning about kicking is only because it's a reflex from all the times he falls asleep at their main safehouse and Clint has to wake him the following morning to ensure he's not dead, hasn't been poisoned, or hit and not noticed.

 

Steve smiles gently, and nods, pulling Tony in for another deep and searching kiss, before moving to get up. Tony already looks ready to drift off, and Steve isn't fond of the idea of bothering him. He pads quietly over to the dresser, and rifles for a few minutes until he comes up with a pair of pajama pants. He shimmies into them easily, and goes to the bedside table again, to pull out a pair of thick framed glasses. They're kind of nerdy, and hey, wearing them makes him feel like less of a mobster, so he doesn't question it much. He goes to grab the herb grinder that's sitting in the drawer, but pauses, shooting a glance over to Tony.

 

“Ah… care if I blaze?” he asks somewhat nervously

 

In the few seconds it took Steve to grab himself pajama pants, Tony repositioned himself so that he was under the covers instead of on top of them, because he doesn't want to be cold, but he doesn't want to get dressed either. He raises an eyebrow at Steve's question, mostly because he's been tipsy half the night and Steve didn't seem to mind, and there were people doing far more dangerous things in the club that Tony hadn't paid much attention to. After a beat, he shakes his head, shifts slightly so he's back on his side with one arm tucked under the pillow.

 

"Go ahead," he mumbles, letting his eyes fall closed once again. "Like the glasses - they look good on you."

 

Steve smirks softly, and bites his lower lip, to avoid blushing, though with his fair fucking skin, he probably is anyway.

 

“Thanks" he mutters, before grabbing the small ornate box, and heading into the other room.

 

 It takes him a lot longer than he would like, to find a lighter in this not lived in wreck of a half-home, but he does, eventually and he plops down on the couch with a tablet and a beer, to go over the product reports that Sam had sent him. It's relatively mindless work, and by the time he's made sense of the mess that Sam's made, two hours have passed, and he's well and truly stoned.

 

He yawns obnoxiously, and puts the tablet away, takes another couple of hits off of the bowl, and heads back into his room. Tony's curled up around a pillow and he looks like the sweetest thing. Steve feels himself smiling gently. He's light with his steps, coming around to 'his’ side of the bed, and touching Tony’s face gently. “Tone?”

 

Tony mumbles something completely incoherent, and even he's not too sure what he's meant to be saying. He presses his face against Steve's hand though, and it takes a considerable effort to not fall straight back asleep with the comfort the gesture provides him. He doesn't kick out though, has enough awareness about him to recognize that he's not in the safehouse, is still in Steve's apartment. He doesn't know how long he's been out for, but it feels like a lot longer than thirty minutes, and he doesn't think there's enough light to suggest that it's morning, but his back's to the window, and Steve always could have shut the blinds.

 

"How long was I out for?" he asks when he can verbalize his thoughts, pushing up and forward to give Steve a gentle kiss. He remembers enough to know that Steve said something about having to do work, so he pulls away after a couple of seconds, lies back down on the bed. "Get your work done?"

 

 

Steve sighs and runs a hand through his hair, ruffling it up that much more.

 

 “It's been two hours. I got a little absorbed, sorry. One of my… colleagues. He's shit with numbers.” He smiles apologetically, and moves to get in the bed with Tony. He's still partially clothed, of course, but he isn't about to be insisting that they rush to round two that quickly. He's more than happy enough to lay here and cuddle, sharing lazy kisses. Maybe that's the herb talking, but Tony doesn't _seem_ to mind.

 

 

Tony abandons the pillow he'd started cuddling at some point in favor of scooting closer to Steve. He's a lot warmer than the pillow, anyway. He doesn't miss the slight hesitation before the word 'colleague', though he supposes that Steve's business is Steve's business, and he knows the consequences that come with poking his nose where it doesn't belong. Knows that the consequences are rarely pleasant, and he usually discovers things that he could have lived without knowing.

 

"Don't have to apologize," Tony says softly, kissing up Steve's neck and finishing with his lips. "You've got your important work done. And I got sleep. Win-win."

 

Steve shivers softly, Tony's kisses doing just enough to get his heart rate kicked up a notch or two. He smiles slowly at the brunette, and pulls him into his lap, fixing him with a considering look, before kissing him deeply. Tony's skin is sleep warm, and soft, wherever it touches him, and there's the slightest impression of lines across his skin, where the sheets had pressed against him as he napped. He's adorable, Steve thinks.

 

“Hmm. Now whatever shall we do with our time, Tony?” He asks in a faked oblivious tone.

 

Tony hums, all fake consideration himself, and leans down to kiss Steve's forehead. His gestures are overly fond and he knows it, but part of him is already mourning the fact that this night has to end, and he's determined to commit as much of it to memory as he can. Maybe he'll get lucky and cross paths with Steve again, maybe once he's no longer working with The Hunt. Maybe. He doesn't really know if he'll ever _not_ be working with them, wonders if he'll end up caught in another, more fatal firefight before he can. He holds back a sigh, moves down to kiss Steve's nose, then his lips.

 

"I don't know," he says slowly, even as he presses his ass against Steve's dick through the pajama pants, relishing the low hiss that it earns him. "Could always do some more math, get you ahead at work," he adds with a grin.

 

Steve growls softly, and his hands come up to grip at the two perfect globes of Tony's ass. he kneads them softly, with overeager fingers, as his hips twitch involuntarily upward.

 

“God no. My brains already half melted, is that really what you want to do with my remaining thought processes?” His cock is thickening with interest, and a small smile plays on his lips as he rolls his hips up. Tony's gotta still be sore, they were _so_ rough, but he's not showing any signs of wanting to stop, and Steve's near desperate himself, already huffing out quiet moans and growls into the scant space between them. He pulls Tony in for a rough messy kiss, and he's smirking as he pulls away. “Missed you while you slept. Kept thinkin’ a you, and all the fun things we could do when you woke up. You're _very_ distracting, Tony.”

 

Tony smiles at that, because this isn't the first time someone's told him he's distracting. Granted, it's usually Pepper when she's trying to work through paperwork, or Rhodey when he's writing up police reports, or Clint when Tony's ordering take-out with the comms still active on missions. This is a welcome change.

 

"Makes you feel any better, you're very distracting too," he says, leaning down to kiss Steve's jawline. "Somehow wandered into my dreams. Definitely distracting." He's not going to get into any detail about what the dream was about, because it definitely didn't have anything to do with their earlier activities, instead a whole lot softer with a whole lot of wishful thinking. He's not going to lie to himself about how quickly he's becoming attached, knows it's probably foolish and potentially dangerous, but that doesn't mean he's going to tell Steve the truth. They set out for a one-night stand, and Tony knows that's what they're going to end as. They have an expiration date, and it's the morning. "So," he says, words careful, "what fun things were you thinking about?"

 

Steve smiles softly at Tony, and brushes his fingers through his hair, gently. There’s something so captivating about him, and it’s dangerous. Steve’s pretty sure he’s fucked, only he could fall for a one night stand, this hard, this fast. For a few seconds, he allows himself to consider all the mundane things that he would like to do with Tony, if this relationship wasn’t doomed from the start. Nice dinners out, strolling through museums. Actually showing him the gallery, telling him what it means to him… his chest twinges painfully, and he shakes his head. Fuck. What comes out of his mouth, is a lot more devil may care, and a lot more vapid, and he kind of hates himself for it.

 

“mm, getting you all layed out across my bed, and fucking you ‘til you scream my name?”

 

 

Tony swears he saw something flash across Steve’s face, quick and fleeting and it looked downright painful. He doesn’t know if it’s something he’s done, prays to every deity he can think of that it isn’t. It’s not his place to ask, he knows that for definite, so he settles on trailing another couple kisses along Steve’s jawline, then captures his lips for a proper kiss, slower and considerably more gentle than earlier. He pulls back with a grin.

 

“Great minds think alike, I guess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise we're getting to the Bucky parts, we're so close, I can literally taste it. (Cinnamon, if anyone was curious!) I hope you enjoyed reading these idiots in love, as much as I enjoyed writing them.


	3. Colder than my heart, if you can imagine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the morning after.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey, heds up, in the next update, we're definitely gonna see some torture, and mayyybe an overdose, depending on how it breaks down. make sure you mind the tags! sorry this took forever to upload, i just strepthroat, got better from it, caught it again from my esposa, and then got in a car wreck, and caught a sinus infection. yay!
> 
> uhh, notes to make, in this fic Tony's aged down, to somewhere around 27. he's still infamous Howard Stark's son, but we fate bent, to the point that Howard and Maria are still alive at the moment, so Tony's more free.

When he wakes up the next morning, the first thing Tony notices isn’t the pain that flares up in the lower half of his body when he tries to move, nor the fact that the alarm on the bedside table reads that it’s half past two in the afternoon (they were both less than sober, stayed up half the night fucking, so it’s not really a wonder that they slept for so long). No, the first thing Tony notices is the feeling of a warm arm underneath him, and another thrown over his waist. He knows he needs to get up, that this is typically the part where he sneaks out and, this time, will ignore any lingering feelings he might have, but he rolls over in Steve’s arms instead. He watches him for a couple seconds, as creepy as that sounds. With the curtains pulled over, he can almost pretend that the filtered light is coming from an early morning sun instead of a mid-afternoon one, and part of him desperately wants to know what Steve is like in the mornings, after nights he hasn’t spent in clubs and getting stoned. Tony leans forward, kisses his nose. When Steve makes some kind of sound that lets Tony know he’s awake, he smiles a little, shifts closer and tries to content himself with just…existing for the next few minutes.

Steve yawns widely, and scrubs his face in the pillow. He’s not really awake, not yet, it always takes him forever and a day to properly come to consciousness. He smiles lightly at Tony and blinks his blue eyes open, slowly. “you’re still here. Thought it was a dream. Shoulda known my imagination wasn’t good enough to conjure something as beautiful as you up.” His words are too sweet, he knows that. He knows he’s being too poetic for a one-night stand, but… hell, they’ve made it this far, the axe is about to fall on this… whatever it is that they have, so what’s the harm in being a little overly sweet?

Tony rolls his eyes, though the gesture has an edge of fondness to it that he can feel, so he’s sure Steve’s able to see it. Well, if Steve gets to be sappy, then he does too, he supposes. “You’re ridiculous,” he mutters, grinning like the lovesick idiot he most definitely is. He wishes that Clint was here, or magically knew when Tony was about to make a bad decision, and could just pop up to smack him. Or Logan. Logan’s also good at that kind of thing, though he tends to not get involved with Tony’s personal life. 

“Last night was…” He trails off, because ‘fun’ doesn’t even begin to cover how he feels about what went down, about how Steve made him feel. After a beat, he settles for a, “Something else.” And it’s no better than ‘fun’, not really, and he’s aware he’s dragging this out, making it more painful for himself than it needs to be, but he can’t help himself.

Steve laughs quietly, and pulls Tony in for a soft kiss. “yeah. Something else is right.” His voice sounds sad, and that’s not what he wanted, not by a long shot. This was supposed to be easy. A fun night out (or rather, in, ) with a gorgeous guy, that Steve picked up at a club. So why does it hurt so much? Steve feels bad, but he’s pretty sure that he sees his pain mirrored in Tony’s face too, so maybe… maybe he’s not the only one who’s suffering. He takes a deep breath, and offers his heart up for sacrifice. “Stay. Have breakfast with me.” He waits with bated breath, searching Tonys eyes for any sign of an answer. After a few seconds, he has to bite his tongue to keep from adding a pathetic ‘please’   
**  
“Natasha, where the hell is my husband?” Bucky asks the tender, who’s cleaning up the bar after last nights shift. She smirks, in that sardonic way of hers and shrugs.

“Your guess is as good as mine, Barnes. He left early last night. With a brunette.” Bucky rolls his eyes, and drops his head to the mahogany bar top. 

“I told that motherfucker he has a type.”   
Natasha raises an eyebrow at Bucky. It’s not as though she hasn’t seen him with his forehead pressed against the bar she’s just wiped down before – as annoying as ever – but it’s rarely over Steve going missing. “I’m sure somebody’s got an idea of where he’s gone,” she says, tone tinged with faint disinterest. “Maybe one of the techs can trace his phone? Frank’s been holed up in the VIP booth all night running diagnostics, and he’s either dosed off or taken something to keep him awake. You that concerned about him, Barnes?”

Bucky raises his head off of the countertop, and shakes it slowly. “nah, I’m pretty sure I know where he is. ‘m not worried.” lie. “he just… didn’t mention finding anyone worth leaving with.” And that’s the crux of the issue, isn’t it? They’ve been together for eight years, married for six, they’ve always said that if there was anyone else, there was no reason to cheat, just be upfront about it. But neither of them had ever bothered to find anyone else. Bucky shakes his head, willing the self-pitying thoughts away. 

“Thanks, Nat.” he smirks, and points to a smudge on the polished wood, where his forehead had just been. “missed a spot.”  
Natasha rolls her eyes, sets about cleaning where Bucky just was, though there is an annoying sympathy bubbling up inside her. “Hey,” she says before he gets the chance to walk away. “You two’ll work whatever this is out, okay? He was probably just too high to realize that he needed to tell you he was going home with someone, I doubt it means anything.” After a beat, she adds, “He’s Steve, and you’re you.” It’s said with a shrug, like that simple fact means the universe will fight for them, and maybe it will.

Bucky smiles softly and nods. Natasha has this way of being supportive, even when her actions seem like she couldn’t care less. Lord knows she’s probably saved him and Steve from more emotional crises than he cares to count. He shoots her a sarcastic salute, and turns over his shoulder, pulling out his keys, in preparation to head to the gallery.  
**  
Tony’s sure as hell not expecting Steve to say that, and he tries to shove down any butterflies that are currently forming in his stomach. Breakfast doesn’t necessarily mean anything – he’s had one night stands before who offered him breakfast, and they remained as that: one night stands. And he knows that the longer he postpones the inevitable, the more painful it’s going to be to say goodbye, and maybe he’s beginning to regret not taking a chance with the redhead who tried flirting with him earlier on last night. This sure as hell wouldn’t be happening with him.

He’s also painfully aware of the fact that he’s gone a little over thirty-six hours without messaging Pepper to inform her that he’s safe, and that’s three times longer than what she thinks is tolerable after one of her guys has been killed. Fourteen hours since he last saw Clint…Hell, if he hadn’t disabled the tracker Pepper placed on his phone earlier this month, he’s sure that someone would’ve barged in on them by now. Still, he pushes aside any anxieties he has and manages a smile, slow and easy. “Technically, I think it’s classed as lunch now. Little late for breakfast.” And it’s not an outright yes, but it’s sure as hell not a no. He’s sure Steve’s intelligent enough to read between the lines.  
Steve smiles softly, and presses a soft kiss to Tony’s lips. He’s hesitant, he can tell, and that hurts, probably more than it has any logical right to. It’s not like this was meant to be any type of relationship, Tony has a life and responsibilities, and friends to get back to. It isn’t personal. No matter how much it feels like it is. “fine, then, lunch. We can compromise. I’m easy.” He can’t help but to pull tony closer, and kiss him again. “just as soon as I’m done kissing you.” 

Tony tries to bite back a grin, knows from experience that it’s a little difficult to kiss effectively when you’re smiling like an idiot, but he can’t really help himself. He does, however, manage to keep a comment about Steve ‘being easy’ to himself, because even if the guy walked right into that one, Tony doesn’t know if it’ll be perceived as a joke or an insult, and he doesn’t want to risk it. “Can’t exactly argue with that kind of logic, now, can I?” is what he voices instead, with something of a crooked smirk before he leans in to kiss Steve again. He’s got absolutely no qualms about making out with him for a while longer if Steve’s content enough to do so, and Tony’s already wondering if it would be too bold to ask for his number, or give Steve his. Alternatively, if he gets his hands on his phone, he can lock onto the signal from Steve’s and hack into it, though placing his number in Steve’s phone that way seems a little creepy, and a whole lot like it would give away that Tony’s not who he says he is. Which is to say, a normal guy with a normal job, albeit Howard Stark’s son. 

Kissing Tony is some kind of intoxicating. Steve loses track of time, and can’t even bring himself to care about the inconvenience. He could have been kissing Tony for five minutes, or five years. he doesn’t even care. The light from the curtains is slanting, showing the passing of time, and his stomach is definitely rumbling, but he can’t bring himself to pull away, because this… whatever it is that they have, seems like a spell, the kind that breaks if either of them move. 

**  
Bucky hates these fucking stairs. They’re steep, and uneven, and a bitch to navigate when it snows, which, wouldn’t you know it, it did last night. He’s grumbling to himself by the time he gets to the top, but he sets his personal grudge with them aside, to unlock the door and push it open. He’s seen his husband in a lot of positions before. He’s seen him nearly beat to death by some mobster, with a headcold so bad his nose looked three times its normal size, and he sounded like a cartoon, hell he’s even seen him beat other people to within an inch of their lives, and sometimes beyond. But for some reason, he really isn’t prepared to see him curled up in bed with a pretty little Brunette thing, kissing him like he was the oxygen he needed to survive. Bucky resists the urge to scoff, scream, or sob, and leans up against the doorframe of the bedroom. 

“good night then?”

Tony manages to hold back a whine or a pout when Steve pulls back like he’s just been hit with an electric shock, and he’s more than used to Logan greeting him in the exact same way this guy’s greeting him and Steve, though something’s distinctly more… off about this. Logan always wears a smirk, and he’s usually waiting in the kitchen when Tony stumbles out of his room for food, and his body language is a lot more relaxed than this guy. It takes Tony a few seconds to piece everything together – and he’s sure he would’ve been a lot faster had he not been drinking last night – and the wedding ring he can see on the new man’s finger is more than enough of a giveaway, the final piece of the puzzle. 

He can pinpoint the exact second his brain kicks into gear, sending about five different mixed signals about what he should do: shove Steve off the bed, apologize to Steve’s husband—(good God, Tony feels like a fool, naïve and willing to accept that maybe Steve was different) – get his clothes on so that he can storm out, curse Steve out in Italian – (Maria’s heritage is definitely good for something) – or maybe he should do all of the above. He tries to not pay any attention to the tight feeling in his chest, knows he’ll be making an angry phone call to Clint after this (because angry is better than tearful), but there’s still something off about this guy. About Steve’s husband. When it clicks, Tony’s pretty sure that he won’t be alive to call Clint, because his mouth’s working before his brain’s given it permission, and he doesn’t have anything to say about Steve. 

“Red Star.” It’s breathless, and it’s disbelieving, and he’s going to tell himself that there isn’t a layer of betrayal in there as well. If Steve’s married to James Buchanan Barnes of Red Star, that means Tony’s just slept with the enemy without even knowing it. They don’t know who he is, of course, no way that they could, but he’s terrified nonetheless. "You know what," he says in a more audible tone, grabbing the sheet so he doesn't expose himself to Barnes and standing up to go retrieve his clothes, moving quickly. "I'm gonna---I'm gonna go, and we can all pretend that this never happened."

Steve’s brain is caught up in a loop of “oh shit, oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.” And his thought process is much much slower than he’d like for it to be. He’s still trying to connect the dots of why Bucky’s here, how he knew where he was, and why the hell he looks so pissed, when he hears the barely there whisper of ‘red star’. The gallery is two stories tall, and Steve’s pretty sure his heart drops a good five. “Tony, wait”, he pleads, coming closer to the edge of the bed, where the brunette has escaped. He can’t think of anything to say that doesn’t sound like the most cliché thing. He wants to tell Tony it’s an open relationship, because it is, but that’s going to sound like a lie right now, because if it was, why wouldn’t he have said so in the beginning? Because this was supposed to be a one night stand. Right. Steve sighs, and looks to Bucky for help. “Bucky… Bucky, Jesus Christ!” 

Bucky, raises an eyebrow, from where he’s cocking his gun and staring down back, disinterested, like he’s checking for dirt.  
“Yeah, Stevie?” he asks, just as pleased as anything, lining the sights up with where Tony’s currently standing. 

“YOU CAN’T FUCKING SHOOT HIM, JAMES!” Steve’s panicked at this point, because he’s seen that look on Bucky’s face before, and it’s the face that says ‘I’ve already made up my mind, and nothing short of divine intervention is going to change it.’.

 

Had this been any other hitman, anyone else at all, Tony wouldn’t have been as petrified as he is right now. He still would’ve been scared, sure, but that’s expected when you’re staring down the barrel of a gun. He’s had one too many close calls with death in the past year to think that the business, even from behind the scenes, is all fun and games, and he’s beginning to regret not paying more attention when Clint and Jessica were teaching him self-defense. He knows how to disarm somebody, but generally that person wouldn’t be James Barnes, and Tony wouldn’t be naked and covering himself with a sheet, and maybe he would’ve had enough wits about him to not sleep with Steve in the first place. 

Bucky gives Steve a look, mutters a, “Could shoot you instead, how about that?” under his breath even though he knows it’s irrational and it’s impulsive. This guy – Tony, Steve said – knows who he is though, means he knows that Steve is connected to Red Star even if he doesn’t know just how crucial Steve is to it, and Bucky can’t risk that getting out. They’ve remained relatively safe up until now, and he doesn’t need Steve’s one-night stand ruining it for them. In a more audible tone, he says, “Nobody can know what we’re involved in, Stevie. People always talk, given the right amount of persuasion. There’s an easy way to stop that from happening.”

“Or we could open the floor to other suggestions,” Tony says, and the statement lifts up at the end, rendering it more of a question than anything concrete. “Y’know, Steve, something that doesn’t end in me dying because you left out a pretty damn crucial piece of information. ‘Oh, hey, I have a husband,’ would’ve sufficed.”

Steve honest to god whines, and drops his face into his hands. “It’s an open relationship, Tony. It’s not… it was supposed to be a one night stand, it wasn’t supposed to turn into…. I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you!” Steve’s words echo in the tense, silent room, and they swim around and around Bucky’s head longer than he cares to admit. It… it hurts hearing his husband admit that he’d fallen for this guy, this ‘Tony’. It feels like something in his chest shatters, and he shakes his head, choosing to go for the much more appealing anger, than the tempting tears. 

“and you weren’t supposed to blow our cover either, but here we are.” He growls disinterestedly at Steve. “How do you know who I am, kid?” he lobbies at Tony, his glare as cold as ever, and his aim with the gun not wavering in the slightest.

Tony would respond to the fact that Barnes just called him ‘kid’ if it wasn’t for his brain refusing to move past Steve’s sudden confession. He thinks he might throw up, and he’s pretty sure he can’t feel his legs. he’s painfully aware that he’s likely seconds away from getting shot while he’s just millimetres away from where his jeans (and therefore phone) are lying on the floor, a call for help he so desperately needs to make because he’s not sure how he’s supposed to cope with any of this. There’s also the issue of how he knows who Barnes is, what he’s involved in, and how he’s supposed to come up with a story without blowing his cover. Easier said than done, really, especially given that Steve’s broke his brain in less than two sentences.

“I – I have a friend who’s ran into you when you were, uh, doing mob things,” and it’s not entirely a lie. Jessica did run into Barnes before, though it was planned, a way to divert attention. And Tony orchestrated the switches and the drop-offs from the safehouse with Pepper, led a few of Barnes’ guys right to where Rhodey and the cops lay in wait. Oh, he’s so dead.

“She didn’t – She’s one of the ones to face you and live, and she – she managed to grab nearby security camera footage. You should really be more careful about that, by the way. It’s, uh, it’s destroyed, but, y’know, for future reference.”

Bucky’s hold on the grip of the gun tightens, and his eyes narrow dangerously. “Thanks for caring enough to share. I promise I’ll weigh that carefully.” His voice is low and just an octave above ‘murderous’. Steve stands up, sliding into his pyjama pants from before, and steps between Bucky and Tony. A bold move, considering how pissed Bucky is, but he’s pretty sure his husband wouldn’t shoot him. relatively. Like. 65% sure. Steve reaches for Tony’s hands, and holds them gently, looking up into his eyes with a painful earnesty.

“Tony. Promise me we can see each other again. please, baby.” His words are quiet, like they’re meant only for Tony, because they are.

Tony’s torn between immediately assuring Steve that they’ll be able to meet again, and slapping him. On the one hand, if what he’s saying about him and Barnes being in an open relationship is true, then the only wrong Steve’s committed is not telling Tony that he’s married, explaining the situation. On the other hand, Barnes looks just shy of murderous and Tony’s pretty sure that the only thing stopping him from being shot dead is the fact that Steve’s using himself as a human shield, which means Barnes isn’t exactly happy; there’s the whole ‘sleeping with the enemy’ problem; and there’s the issue of him not checking in with Pepper in now nearly sixteen hours. If Barnes doesn’t kill him, Pepper will. There are many more negatives than positives, but Tony’s apparently the rat that repeatedly presses the button to shock itself, because he can’t bring himself to give an outright no. He lets go of Steve’s hands, reaches over to grab his jeans and tug them on.

“If it’s…If it’s safe, I’ll find a way to contact you, okay? Don’t…Don’t give me your phone number.” He doesn’t want to chance Clint going through his phone again (happens more than he’d care to admit, and usually just because Clint’s bored, not a big problem given that Tony only tends to keep his work phone on him), and he knows that he should be able to find Steve’s number if he can break through enough firewalls, route anything through his computers instead of his phone – much more difficult to hack into. “This doesn’t mean I’m not pissed.”

Steve shoots Bucky a look and he puts the gun down, finally, though his eyes are still much more than stormy. At least he isn’t planning on shooting anyone, right now. Steve sighs, and resists the urge to grovel at Tony’s feet. He said he’d find a way, so he has to trust that. Even if his instincts are telling him that it’s just a polite way to give him the brush off. 

“I know, Tony. You have every right to be, I’m… I’m sorry. I should have told you about Bucky.” Bucky scoffs, and puts the gun back in his waistband, before crossing his arms over his chest.

“you shoulda told me about him, punk. That was always the deal. We talk to each other, Stevie. I don’t deserve to have to find you neckin’ some pretty little thing in your loft.” He shoots a glance to Tony and huffs quietly. “and he don’t deserve the red star enforcer threatenin’ to shoot him first thing after he wakes up.

“Thanks,” Tony mutters, pulling on his t-shirt. His body’s protesting at this much movement, insisting that he lies down for a good few hours and tries to sleep through the worst of the pain in his lower back, but he doesn’t exactly have a choice at this particular moment in time. He checks his back pocket for his phone, finds it still in one piece – if he had been wary about the potential of Steve finding something out before, he’s terrified now – and also finds twenty-seven missed messages from Clint, three calls from Pepper, and one of each from Rhodey. Well, looks like he isn’t getting that nap any time soon. 

“Not the worst way I’ve ever been woken up, though, I’ll give you that,” he adds with a smirk in Bucky’s direction, because that leaves a lot to the imagination. The first thing that springs to mind is the time he woke up to the sight of Clint, naked, emerging from his bathroom. That was bad. Or the time he fell asleep in the safehouse and woke up while Jessica was torturing – she says interrogating, he begs to differ – a guy for information. Or the time – Yeah, being faced with a gun is becoming a common occurrence, and Tony wonders if he needs to revaluate Rhodey’s offer for a job with the feds. Reformed hackers helping catch bad guys and all that. That’d probably involve the same amount of guns and half the pay though, so he’s content where he is. He tugs his jacket on, then steps forward to press a kiss to Steve’s cheek. “Promise I’ll call, okay? You just gotta have faith in me.”

Steve is universally fucking terrible at having faith in anything, but he nods, and steps out of Tony's way because it's the right response. Or, it's the rightest response, as far as this situation goes. The brunette makes his way out if the loft and down the stairs, and Steve tries his hardest not to think how he's probably making his way out of his God damned life. He turns to Bucky, slowly, and sighs. 

“I'm… I'm sure you're gonna yell at me, Buck, just get it over with the silent broody look sets me on edge, you know it does.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, doesn't make any effort to move from where he's back to leaning against the doorframe. He's still trying to ignore the hurt buried hilt-deep in his chest, making it difficult to breathe, because they agreed that they were an open relationship and Steve seemed... happy with Tony. Too close and tender after one night, maybe, but they seem about as lost as he is.

"'m not gonna yell at you," he says eventually, voice low, warning. He's more afraid that he'll start crying at any given moment, which wouldn't be fair to Steve. He knows that. "It's just..." He breaks off on a sigh, runs a hand through his hair. "A warning would've been nice, Stevie. You know we agreed that...that one-night stands are okay, so long as we at least give each other a head's up. I had to hear it from Nat that you took some little brunette thing home, and that...it hurt."

Steve groans quietly and takes a step closer, wrapping an arm around Bucky's side, and hooking his chin over his shoulder. “I'm sorry, Buck. It's not an excuse, but I was buzzed before I left, and I blazed when I got here.” He nuzzles up against the curve of Bucky's neck, where he's sensitive, and can't resist soft kisses and bites, and whines again. “I really am sorry, Jamie.” And that's, maybe, a little overkill. It's a nickname he doesn't use often, doesn't hardly use ever, because it's got sentiment like no one's business. It's the nickname he called Bucky way back when, when they were just kids, who didn't have all this shit to be afraid of, or gang wars to fight, or product to move. It was the nickname he woke up screaming from every bad nightmare, and asthma attack that nearly put him six feet under. Bucky gives in, wraps his arms around Steve's waist, though that doesn't mean that there isn't still a dull ache in his chest, Steve's words about loving Tony echoing through his head.

"And I was holed up in the office, helpin' Sam with numbers," he says quietly, because part of him understands why Steve might not have wanted to come into the office and talk if he was buzzed, because Bucky most definitely would have tried to talk him out of doing anything unless he was sober and certain. A few, long seconds pass, and Bucky tightens his grip on Steve ever so slightly. "Did you mean what you said?" He asks, and the idea of an answer terrifies him. "About falling in love with him?"

Steve's quiet for several long, telling seconds, and when he finally does manage to speak, his voice is ragged and harsh. “It's… it's easy, Bucky. It's like it was with you. Like it is with you.” He buries his face further into Bucky's shoulder because he can't stand to see the look on his husband's face, when he hears that news. It can't be easy. Hell, it isn't easy for Steve to feel. His grip tightens on Bucky, and he draws the brunette in as close as he can. “It don't mean I love you any less, ok? Nobody could take me from you, not God himself, Jamie.”

 

Bucky tenses near imperceptibly at that, at Steve's admission, though he doesn't make any moves to get away from Steve or to shut the conversation down. He's pretty sure they've survived through worse than this, through several near-death experiences, but this feels more like he's dying than any of the times he actually was. This isn't anything he and Steve have had to navigate before, and he's so scared, even if he's not going to admit it. Sighing, Bucky leans his head against Steve's.

"We agreed that one night stands were okay," he says, ever so slowly and carefully. "We never said anything about falling for other people, Stevie. I can't... I can't exactly stop you from pursuing him if you want, but I don't... I don't know how I feel. I just... how'd you react if you found me with another guy, saying I'm in love with him?"

Steve whines and when he pulls back tears sparkle in his bright blue eyes. “I will. I'll stop seeing him if it hurts you Bucky. I’m the one that didn’t do wat I was supposed to.” There's a few moments where it's quiet, like he's considering. “It was just supposed to be sex. I swear to God Bucky. But he's smart Bucky, God he's so smart. And the sex…” he shakes his head and drops his forehead to Bucky's shoulder. “We fucked four times last night, Bucky, I thought he was gonna kill me. He's such a minx. You'd love him I swear.”

Bucky moves, takes half a step back and brings his hands to cup Steve's face, make him look him in the eyes instead of hiding his face against his shoulder. "I don't want you to stop seeing him if that'd make you unhappy," he says, because he's willing to learn how to adapt and cope if it means Steve's happy. There's also a bitter little voice in the back of his head, telling him that Steve and Tony can't possibly have learned that much about each other in a night, that there could always be a deal-breaker for one of them. He doesn't fully trust Tony, and it's not just because Steve's apparently falling in love with him.   
"Alright? I'm not saying you have to do that. And you can't exactly contact him to break...whatever this is off. Kinda interested to see how he does contact you - no phone number and all." There's a moment, and then, a soft huff of laughter. "And I don't think he'd love me after that stunt." The gun feels heavy against his waistband, and he kind of wants to go back in time and warn himself not to overreact to such an extent. "I'm surprised he wasn't immediately deterred by the whole 'you're married' thing, I'll give him that."

Steve nods, and rests his forehead against Bucky's, finally feeling like he can breathe, now that Bucky isn't asking for a divorce, or demanding Steve grovel for forgiveness, not that it’s any less than he’d deserve. “Yeah. He's seen some shit. He's got a few nasty scars too, at least one that looks like an old GSW.” He shrugs, and sighs gently. “I've never…” he pauses, searching for the right words, and failing to find them. “Buck, I've never felt a connection with anyone else like that, except you. It's…” he cuts himself off with a frustrated noise at not being able to express himself right. “How many times you ever seen me get emotional during sex? How many times you ever seen me cry during?”

Bucky thinks about the question for several long moments, and that really should be answer enough. He can remember maybe two or three times in the past couple years, their wedding night, cliché as it is. though he's certain that there were a few more times in the earlier stages of their relationship, when they were trying to figure out what they meant to each other, how to act now compared to when they were just best friends. 

"Not many," he eventually concedes, before adding a, "Hardly ever, actually. You cried while you were having sex with him?" his voice is light, teasing, and he raises his eyebrows in open, if loving mockery. The information about the GSW is more than a little troubling, and Bucky makes a mental note to ask Frank to poke around in Tony Stark's background, figure out what he could have gone through that would have resulted in that. As far as he knows, the media probably would've gone crazy if Howard Stark's kid got himself shot in something scandalous, or was attacked, and there's no way the kid ever went to war. He doesn't say anything about it being suspicious to Steve, because there's no need to worry or offend him before Bucky has anything concrete on the guy. And he's not trying to keep Steve from Tony. He's not. He's watched him go through hell and back with how poorly he was as a kid, and he'll be damned if any more harm befalls Steve if there's something he could do to prevent it.

Steve groans longsufferingly and punches Bucky in the shoulder, albeit adoringly. “C’mon, when you say it like that, I sound like a total pansy.” Although, to be fair, he is kind of a pansy, at this point. He sighs and runs a hand through his hair, trying to find a way to sum up the feeling in a way that makes any kind of sense.   
“It was like… remember how it felt, the first time we were together? When we were, what 15 and 17, how it felt like everything was falling apart around us, and it was new, and terrifying, and perfect too?” He's maybe being a little poetic but he remembers clearly, the world shaking apart as Bucky held him together, in solid arms. He squirms slightly, because it's almost uncomfortable, being this candid with his husband, of all people, who shouldn't have to hear him describe how life changing a one-night stand with someone else was, but if anyone stands a chance of understanding, it's him. “And it wasn't… it wasn't just how I felt either… there was something there, Buck, I know there was. I was shaking all over, after, and he just rolled us over and kisses me through it. Keep saying how I was ok, we were ok. I…” he stills, and shakes his head in disbelief. “It was more than sex for just a minute.” Bucky stares at Steve for a few seconds, then shakes his head slightly. He wants to relocate them to the bed, sit down and talk instead of standing by the doorway, but he's not entirely sure he wants to sit on the bed until the sheets have been washed. Being okay with Steve having a one night stand - if it can even still be called that - is one thing, but sitting down on the bed after it is another entirely.   
"Think he felt the same," he mutters, and he tries to not let any of the hurt seep into his tone. If Steve and Tony want to have something more than a one night stand, and Steve doesn't want to break things off with Bucky, then Bucky's more than willing to try to work something out. Maybe, if they can move past the fact that he almost shot him, Bucky and Tony could be friends, and Steve gets to have both of them. Maybe. 

"If he didn't feel the same, I'm pretty sure there would've been a lot more yelling and cursing you out this morning, not telling you that he'll call you." "But," he adds after a second, his usual smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, "you are a pansy. Think the way you just described our first time goes to prove that." Before Steve can get offended or defensive, Bucky tilts his chin up, kisses him. "It's cute."

Steve rolls his eyes and licks Bucky's cheek, because that's what they do when things get overly emotional, and it's not a life or death matter, or some huge thing that needs discussing. They push things back to normality with something bizarre. 

“Screw you, buddy, I’m fuckin’ manly as hell.” He pouts slightly, sticking his lower lip out like a kid. He looks over the apartment for a few seconds, and sighs, before shaking his head. The bedding needs to be stripped and washed, there's the remains of a lamp on the floor that needs dealt with—round three had been… violent— and there's an overwhelming air of emotion in the atmosphere that feels like it's strangling the life out of him. 

“I gotta get outta here, Barnes.” The apartment can be dealt with. They have a small battalion of very discreet, very expensive cleaners for that. For now, He smiles softly, the way he only ever does for Bucky and shoves his hands in his pockets. “Lemme get dressed, take me home?”

Bucky smiles softly, brushes a piece of hair behind Steve’s ear, in a motion that’s maybe a little fonder than they usually are. “Sure thing, doll.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is this a healthy poly relationship? not really. do i condone this type of poly? of course not. does it work out for them, in this specific instance? it's stuckony. 
> 
> Bucky and Steve had an open relationship, where one night stands were allowed, as long as they talked about it first. Steve didn't mention it because he was crossfaded, and obviously this is more than a one night stand. it works out, but that doesn't mean that Steve didn't put both of them in a kinda crappy position. poor guy means well. <3 feel free to come scream at me on tumblr! @thejovialkynnadyg-ray.


	4. I'm Made of Wax, Larry, What Are You Made of?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tony doesn’t get a chance to make a joke, doesn’t get a chance to ask Bucky if he’s come to see about the possibility of a three-way. The second Bucky notices him, he’s crossed the distance between them in two long strides, presses him back against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the back of Tony’s head against it.  
> “Are you gonna tell him the truth or am I?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have two updates, since I took so long to get back to you guys! Minor trigger warning for the use of guns again, and a bit of torture, to a minor character. the torture is separated by another warning and is blocked in by 3 *'s, so you can avoid it.

After his night with Steve, Tony had retreated to the main base of operations in The Hunt's safezone. He knew that if he skipped a meeting and went straight back to Logan, back home, he'd get an earful from Pepper and probably protective custody from Clint - because that was a thing. They thought one of their own was threatened, they were detained in the safehouse until the storm had passed, even if there wasn't a storm and it was only a one night stand. Well, a one night stand that was meant to turn into something more, if Steve's request for another chance meant anything. Tony wants to assume they did.

 

He runs a hand through his hair, leans back against the arm of the couch, flexing his fingers over the keyboard. The live footage playing out before him shows Jessica and Wanda undercover, trying to subtly extract information before they resort to more serious measures. More deadly measures. He has another algorithm running on one of the computers at the opposite side of the room, glances over at it every few seconds to check the progress. At the loft, he'd managed to latch onto the signals both Steve and Barnes' phones had been sending off, could use it to remotely trace and track and hack.

 

One look at the coding of Barnes' phone made it clear that it would be a Goliath task even for someone as skilled as Tony, and Steve's wasn't much less protected. There are holes in Steve's firewall though, make it marginally easier to crack than Barnes's, and the program he's designed has been decrypting the information for over a week. He's pretty sure Steve'll think he's no longer interested, or was hurt by the whole husband thing. He can't even return to the club - Pepper's threatened death if he tries. There's a ping from across the room, and then his phone vibrates where it's stuck between his thigh and the couch, and he smiles to himself. Jess and Wanda are doing okay, so he figures he can take a quick break to call Steve, arrange the next time they meet. He sets the call up so that it goes through his laptop, using his headset so he can easily switch back to Jessica's comm line if needs be, and he lets it ring, prays Steve isn't adverse to answering unknown numbers.

**

Steve’s not expecting much out of today --since it certainly doesn’t look like this guy is gonna talk anytime soon, but hes’s _especially_ not expecting the shrill ring of his personal phone to go off over the sound of screams. He rolls his eyes and scoffs gently, flicking the needle he’s shoved under the guys nailbeds, because he can, and because he’s not in the best mood. “Listen to me, Gordon. You’re going to be quiet, while I answer the phone, aren’t you?” Gordon screams, and nods his head, eyes wild and desperate, like a wounded animal.

 

[so trigger warning, for minorly gruesome torture of a minor character. It’s incredibly brief, and I’ll put it between three *’s so you know where to skip to, if you don’t want to read it!]

***

“Please! Please, I don’t know who the supplier is!” Steve rolls his eyes, and walks in two quick steps over to the fifty-five-gallon drum, still crackling from the fire he lit this morning (to warm the draft, he’d told himself. _lied_ to himself.) and grabs the patiently waiting section of rebar. He’s efficient with his movements, still in a hurry, despite knowing that the phone would automatically send the call to the hold memo, giving him ample time, provided that the caller was patient enough to wait the minute or two it would take to sort this guy out. Steve hasn’t ever really cared for the smell of burning flesh, doesn’t think anyone does, but he can’t deny it’s effectiveness. Gordon’s screaming again, despite already having torn his voice to shit, and Steve can’t help but to smirk briefly. Maybe he’s in a bit of a bad mood, after all.

 

“Damnit, Gordon. And I wanted to trust you.” He sighs, like a disappointed father figure—Bucky always said that was his best trick—and tosses the rebar back into the drum, reaching for a wad of rags, lying on the nearby table. He forces the rags into Gordon’s mouth, while he’s still screaming, and shakes his head.

***

 “Now when I come back, Gordon, I expect you to play _nicely_.” He walks away, pulling the phone from his pocket, ignoring the receding sound of sobbing. He notes, absently, that the number calling isn’t identified, which likely means wrong number, bill collector—because _that_ wasn’t the greatest irony—or… he can’t let his mind go there, it’s been three weeks, the call isn’t coming. “Go for Steve.” He growls out, after turning off the call holding system.

 

Had the guy on the line not identified himself, Tony would have assumed his program had a glitch and decrypted the wrong piece of the phone's system, got him the wrong number, and that he was now speaking to the wrong person. Tony raises an eyebrow to himself, plays about with the security footage to have it glitch and skip as it's recording, cover anything Jessica and Wanda can't do from the ground. He trusts them, he does, but they're both shit at listening to him when he tells them to stick to the blindspots, not be picked up by the cameras if they can help it. Well, it's just more work for him then, isn't it? If he didn't value his life, he would ask Pepper about the possibility of overtime pay.

 

 "Catch you on a bad day?" he asks, cutting three security feeds entirely. Jessica and Wanda are half a block away from the warehouse they're supposed to be raiding -- infiltrating it undercover before they bring out the big guns, literally. His tone's light, teasing, and he doubts that anyone would think he's in the midst of covering up a hit. Granted, it's a hit to prevent more future murders at the hands of pissed off drug dealers, but it's still a crime. He doesn't wait for Steve to respond, types out a message to Clint on the laptop. Jess and Wanda are going to need a driver, after all.

 

"Sorry about the wait; took me the longest damn time to find your number. Would've asked you for it at the loft, but you seemed like you needed to have a conversation with Barnes and, uh, I thought it was best you did that. Anyway, completely my fault, and I wasn't blowing you off, still kinda sorta definitely interested in continuing things if you are." And Pepper will kill him if she ever finds out about this, or maybe just desecrate his body after Rhodey kills him. There's a pause, then, "It's Tony, by the way. Stark." Steve's face lights up immediately and he can't help the way his stomach swoops out from under him. It's been three weeks. He knew, _knew_ the call wasn't coming. For it to be him after all this time…

 

“Tony, oh my God, baby!” He cringes, as soon as the term of endearment slips out, but it's too late. He's _missed_ Tony so damn much. Spent nights and days waiting, only to give up hope completely, get as drunk or as high as he could in the hope to forget him, picked up as many thin brunettes as he could for a quick round of hate sex and started the whole process over again, the next day. He shakes his head trying to forget about it. “How-h-how have you been?”

 

Tony grins, tries to ignore the butterflies in his stomach in favour of paying attention to what's happening to Clint and Jessica because there are a lot of large men with guns guarding the warehouse and, while given orders to be as peaceful and discreet as possible, Wanda has a certain way with missions like these..

 

"'m good," he says, and it's not a lie for the first time in a couple months. "Busy with work, but what else is new?" He shrugs slightly, rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. "Have you been okay?" he asks, and he almost sounds hesitant, like he doesn't want the answer. "I really am sorry about the wait, sweetheart. I overestimated my abilities, thought I'd get the number within a few days, not a few weeks." And Tony just prays that he hasn't hurt Steve, though his gut tells him that he probably has. Still, there should be plenty of time to make up for it now that they're actually talking again.

 

Steve huffs out a quiet laugh, and it’s maybe not the healthiest thing in the world. “I uh. I thought you wouldn’t call.” He hates that he sounds so desperate already, that his voice is already cracking, but it’s like this one call has served to tear down all of his walls, and expose the soft squishy center of emotion that he tried so hard to cover with sweat, and self-sabotage.

 

he moves to look through the warehouse window, peeks down to make sure that Gordon is behaving. He isn’t screaming, thank fuck, but he’s slumped over against his bonds, which means that Steve’s going to have to go all the way down to the kitchen, and pull adrenaline and a hypo out of the fridge to wake him back up. Great.

Tony's eyebrows draw together, heart sinking at that. From here on out, he should maybe just ask for people's numbers instead of bypassing security and software to obtain it himself. He wants to ask Steve to meet up, but he knows that Pepper has a mission planned for tonight that she needs the technicians for, and he doesn't exactly trust Malcolm to handle it on his own. Kid's talented, sure, but he's that: a kid. He reactivates the sabotaged security camera once he's sure Jessica and Wanda have passed. There's the slightest flash in the corner of one of the cameras inside the warehouse, undoubtedly from the muzzle of a gun. Still, he knows tonight's mission is mostly recon, gather information about a supposed new gang. Malcolm can probably handle that. So, filtering the security footage, he clears his throat. "Are you free tonight? Say, uh--" He glances at the clock, and it's much later in the day than he thought-- "two hours from now? I really want to see you." Steve feels his mood lift instantly, and all of a sudden, he doesn’t care about having to run downstairs for the adrenaline, or having to drug the guy back awake, or having to finish any of this at all. He can see Tony again. He can see Tony again, tonight. Tonight.

 

“fuck” he whispers quietly, keeping his mouth turned away from the receiver. There’s a huge mission tonight, Bucky’s been talking about it for weeks. Intel thinks they’ve narrowed the bad drugs down to a few solid candidates, and Bucky and Sam think there’s a pretty good chance of striking a few of those names off of the list, if they can get a look at this warehouse. He really needs to be there, especially since the new gang has been marking their bad shit with an emblazoned, stylized red star, meaning to take Steve and Bucky down, by making clients assume they’re the ones producing this shit. It’s crude, but it’s effective, turns out junkies aren’t that reliable. Steve really needs to be there… but… this is Tony. He closes his eyes, against the horrible decision he’s about to make, and nods, to steel himself.

 

“Yeah. Yeah, I don’t have anything. Do you… want to meet at the gallery?” he knows it sounds kind of tacky, like he just wants to roll back into bed with the guy (he does) but there’s so much to talk about, and they need to decide where this is going, if anywhere. “I’ll cook.” He tries, hoping he doesn’t sound like he’s desperately trying to cover. (he is). “Clothes on, Bucky told. The right way, this time, honey.” Tony hums, as if he actually needs a moment to consider whether or not he wants to meet up at the gallery.

 

"I mean, you do still owe me a breakfast," he says slowly, and his grin has to be audible. He's still not entirely sure how he feels about the fact that Steve's married, but the relationship - can he even class what they have as that yet? - doesn't seem to be bothering Bucky, and maybe that's a good sign. Maybe that's the universe telling Tony to go for it. "I get off work in another hour, and I'll be there on time. Promise." At least Steve now has his number to call him, if needs be.

 

 **

 It's nearly ten at night when Clint notices Tony slipping out of the safehouse - back exit to a small, secluded alleyway. Had Clint not been loitering about, waiting for a delivery to arrive, he probably wouldn't have noticed Tony leaving at all. Tony certainly doesn't realize he's being watched, posture far too relaxed for that. He nearly calls out to him, asks him where the hell he's going when he's needed for the gathering Intel part of the next mission, but he catches himself at the last second, sends a text asking for Jessica to cover for the delivery Instead, and sets about following Tony. One of Pepper's cars or bikes would be too obvious, so he hails a cab a few minutes after Tony does, when he can just see Tony's cab turning right at the end of the street. Tony's rarely the most cautious guy, so Clint doubts he'll be checking for anyone following him, but better to be safe than sorry. Information about their hits has been leaking to the targets lately, and Clint hates to assume it's Tony, but he's been acting shady.

 

 

Steve's been in a destructive downward spiral, ever since whatever he had with Tony went bust, and he's not willing to admit he’s anything but ok, but Bucky's seen the patterns enough in himself to know that he's fucking not. Steve never touches the product beyond herb, and three times in the last month, Bucky's seen him freebasing. He tells himself he isn't going to have to fight the addiction battle with Steve. Not with Steve. But the way he comes up nervous as hell, and shaking, he's expecting the worse.

 

Somehow, when Steve tells him he's got another date with Tony, he _almost_ wishes it was the drugs. It's not that he doesn't want Steve to see Tony he does, he wants whatever the hell's gonna help his Stevie, but he doesn't exactly trust the kid that fell out of existence for three solid weeks, and suddenly pops back up. He agrees to cover for Steve tonight, because he knows his husband is head over heels, but he doesn't have to be _happy_ about it.

 

That unhappiness gets that much worse when he sees that fucking archer skulking around. They're not in no man's land this time, they're in Red Star territory, and him being here is enough for an act of war, depending on what the fuck he's up to in the shadows. Bucky growls lowly, and signals Frank to come in, watch his post while he figures out what that squirrelly bastard is doing here.

 

**

Steve's all nerves, pacing the Halls of the gallery proper. Usually, the art helps settle him, sets his mind back to a creative space, but all he can think of now is Tony. Wondering where he is how he's doing, if he's actually going to show. It's madness. When he sees a cab pull to the curb and stop, his heart jumps into his throat violently.

 

On the drive over, Tony'd noticed a cab tailing them for a couple of blocks, at the start of the journey - so Jess and Clint can stop worrying, because he _does_ have some survival instinct - but it had pulled off to a side street after the fifth block, and Tony hasn't seen it again since. False alarm. He's definitely paranoid about meeting Steve, even if it's officially dark out, and cold enough to deter half of The Hunt's members from participating in unnecessary missions.

 

Stepping out of the cab, Tony tugs his jacket tighter around himself, fights the urge to take his scarf off before he gets inside because the last thing he wants is to catch a cold and be bedbound for a few days. Wouldn't be able to meet up with Steve if that happened, now, would he? He's tipped the driver more than enough to compensate having to drive through the snow that's only gotten worse since it started falling three weeks ago, and the cab pulls off the curb as he approaches the door of the gallery, easily noticing Steve inside. Better than him waiting out in the cold, definitely. He shifts his scarf from where it's covering his mouth and nose, presses up on his toes and pulls Steve close to kiss him.

 

 Clint's convinced that he's hallucinating. Someone - probably Wanda - has to have slipped something into his drink as a joke, and the effects are only starting to set in now. There's no way he's just watched Tony venture into Red Star territory, go to one of the suspected home locations for some of the most elusive members of the rival gang, and fucking kiss one of them. There's no way. He knows that Pepper's been keeping the names and locations under her watch alone (and telling Clint so that he can watch out for anyone, get information), but there's no way she didn't tell Tony. He's not sure if Tony's unwittingly walked into his own death, or if he's the mole. Regardless, he pulls his hood up a little further, obscures his face and sticks to the shadows across the street. In less than five seconds, he's got his phone pressed to his ear. She picks up on the second ring. "I think Tony's in danger," he says, because it's a hell of a lot less painful to say that than to say he thinks Tony's double-crossed them.

Steve sighs happily, and wraps his arms around Tony. His mouth doesn’t say anything, but his brain’s stuck thinking lovesick thoughts about how well the brunette fist up against him, and how very like a puzzle he feels, having found its missing piece.

 

“how are you, baby?” he asks, breathlessly, resting his forehead against Tonys. His skin is cold from the outside, and some mother hen part of Steve pouts, wanting to keep him warm and safe forever—like that was possible, with a mobster. “hinny, you’re chilled through, let’s get you upstairs.”

 

**

 Bucky sees the bastard reach for a phone, and that’s all the encouragement he needs, to reach for the gun nestled gently against his spine, in his waistband. He’s a half second away from blowing his head off, when he hears the words: ‘Tony’s in danger’.

 

 Betrayal. Betrayal is the first thing he feels. If ‘archer’ here is the Hunt, and he knows Tony, knows him enough to be calling someone about him being in danger… that’s gotta mean he’s the Hunt too. Which makes him the enemy. Bucky is seething. He pulls back into the shadows, and skirts the edges of the building ‘archer’ is hiding by. He can go over one block, come up behind the gallery, use the maintenance door to get upstairs to the apartment, and warn Steve that he’s sleeping with a snake, without being seen. If he’s quick, hopefully he can do it before more reinforcements show up.

 

 **

Tony whines, low and in the back of his throat, and tightens his hold on Steve before he can even attempt to move them anywhere. “’m quite comfortable here, thanks,” he mutters, though he can’t deny that the cold seeping into his bones is substantially more noticeable now that he’s in from outside. There are a million things running through his mind: he wants to ask how Steve’s doing, wants to ask about Bucky and if he’s chilled out since the last time Tony encountered him, wants to figure out where the hell their relationship’s headed. He can’t decide which he needs to voice first. In the end, he concedes about needing to move upstairs to recover some body heat, allows Steve to lead the way.

 

He tugs off his scarf the second they’re through the door to the loft, throws it over the back of one of the chairs, though he doesn’t take his jacket off yet. He’s lost the majority of sensation in his fingers, and he knows it’ll take him less time to recover the ability to feel if he stays warmer. His phone buzzes in his back pocket, a text instead of a call, so it can’t be anything urgent. He turns to Steve, leans in for another kiss, and lets himself smile when he pulls back.

 

“I’ve missed you.” It’s a difficult thing to admit for someone as emotionally closed-off as Tony tends to be, but he has a feeling that Steve feels the same way, so he’s a little less hesitant about saying something he’d typically file under: ‘Romantically cheesy. Never Speak Aloud.’

 

***

 

Clint swears he hears a noise somewhere behind him while he’s listening to Pepper ask too many questions at once, but he can’t afford to pay any attention to it. Tony’s just disappeared from his field of view with a member of Red Star, and there’s not a single universe in which that’s a good sign. He makes a distressed sound and Pepper definitely picks up on it, if her sudden demand for his location is anything to go by. They don’t have people to spare tonight, given that most of them are working on tracking and identifying the newest drug producers and dealers, so if he’s going to do anything, he’s going to need to do it solo or wait for the cops to arrive. Involving Rhodey seems like a bad idea though, especially given that the guy’s probably busy with the recent string of murders upstate, so he tells Pepper that he can handle it, that if he doesn’t call again within an hour, she’ll have to send people to his location. He pockets the phone, takes his gun out of its holster and checks that his knife is easily accessible in his boot before he sets about finding a side entrance to the gallery. He’ll need the element of surprise if he has any hope of saving Tony – or capturing him for interrogation if he turns out to be dirty.

**

 Steve smirks fondly and presses a gentle kiss to the back of Tony's neck, before he pulls away and heads into the kitchen. “missed you too, babe.” he says quietly, and there's so much truth to it, it barely scratches the surface. He needs to tell Tony how poorly he's handled their time apart, needs to tell him about substances he's abused, and more importantly the string of recent conquests, because if their first night together taught him anything its that being upfront is a must, but he can't quite bring himself to ruin the time that they have, so he doesn't. Not yet. Instead, he rummaged through the cabinets until he finds the coffee he keeps here, and sets about to making a pot. He's getting ready to steel himself for a bad conversion when Bucky comes into the room, through the rarely used maintenance stairs. Steve raises an eyebrow, genuinely confused. “what are you doing here, Buck?”

 

Tony doesn’t get a chance to make a joke, doesn’t get a chance to ask Bucky if he’s come to see about the possibility of a three-way. The second Bucky notices him, he’s crossed the distance between them in two long strides, presses him back against the nearest wall with enough force to knock the back of Tony’s head against it. He doesn’t waste time, uses the short moment of confusion to pull his gun and press the muzzle of the gun under Tony’s chin. One of his arms is flat across Tony’s chest, keeping him pinned where he is. Before Steve has a chance to protest, because he made a distressed noise the second Bucky manhandled Tony, Bucky lowers his voice slightly, but not enough that Steve won’t hear.

 

“Are you gonna tell him the truth or am I?” His voice is sharp as the edge of a blade, and he’s not afraid to pull the trigger if he has to. He’s killed enough people for less serious offences, but crossing Steve, potentially (likely) intending to _harm_ Steve…that’s unforgiveable.

 

“What---” Bucky doesn’t give Tony a chance, can see the fear in his eyes. He knows what he’s done.

 

“Your pretty little boytoy runs with The Hunt, Steve,” he says, not taking his eyes off Tony. “Guessin’ he didn’t tell you that when he was acting high and mighty about us bein’ with the mob, did he?”

 

Steve’s eyes go wide, and he laughs, uneasily. It’s not funny, none of this is funny, it’s just that That’s not... that _can’t_ be the truth, can it? It’s… preposterous. Steve shakes his head, and stares at Tony, his blue eyes beseeching.

 

“Tony… Tony, you’re not… You’re _not_ with the Hunt… are you?” The Hunt is directly against basically everything they do. They’ve been trying to avoid them for years, avoiding the territories they operate in, operating in the shadows and silence to stay off their radar. So for a member of the Hunt to wander into a club in their territory, come across Steve of all people, and go home with him… then, return later? That’s not… that can’t be a coincidence. This has to be a hit.

 

“Tony… please, please, tell me you weren’t sent for me.”

 

 “I wasn’t,” Tony says, and he knows that he’s answering Steve’s question about whether or not he’s with the Hunt with those words, the slight shame they’re spoken with. But they’re the truth. Nobody sent him to that club, nobody told him who Steve was or who he was married to, and nobody instructed him to find his number, keep in contact. That’s all Tony, though he doesn’t know how to make Steve believe him. Bucky flicks the safety off the gun, presses the muzzle harder against his throat. Low and dangerous, he grits out a,

“Don’t lie.”

“I _wasn’t_ ,” he repeats, though he doesn’t take his eyes off Steve, desperate and pleading. “Steve, sweetheart, I—I didn’t know who you were before I met you at the club, had no fucking idea that you were involved with Red Star, that you were married to Bucky Barnes. I’m the Hunt’s _hacker_ —they don’t send me out to do field work. It’s how I got your number. Latched onto your signal last time I was here and used it to track the phone, bypass the security measures remotely. But nobody sent me here to do that! I—I meant everything I said, that I’ve missed you, and that I wanted this to go somewhere. I wasn’t sent here to harm _either_ of you, Steve, please.”

 

“He wasn’t.” Tony notices Clint in the main doorway at the same time as Bucky whirls around and fires off a shot, hitting the doorframe and missing Clint’s head by about an inch. Tony can’t tell if he missed on purpose or not. Clint looks moderately offended, raises his hands in a gesture that’s supposed to mean surrender, and doesn’t try to move further into the loft.

 

Steve’s eyes go hard and flinty in the span of a half second, and he takes a single step back reaching under the unsuspecting kitchen table, and pulling a .9mm, from seemingly nowhere. There’s a round already chambered, and Steve’s nimble fingers are quick to clip the safety off, so the muzzle lining up with Clint’s chest, it’s a definite threat. That gives Bucky the freedom, to put his sights back on Tony, so he moves back to staring down the open sights at him. Steve growls lowly, in the back of his throat.

 

 “the fuck are you?” Bucky answers, without turning around.

 

“That’s the bastard that took out our last three marks, Stevie.” Steve scoffs curtly, and other than a slight twitch to the corner of his lips, his demeanor doesn’t change.

 

“I’d compliment your for Karpov, but that was three months of border fights for us. Nearly lost us midtown, and cost me personally 15k.” Yeah. He’s got a grudge. Clint shrugs, slow and easy with his hands kept where they are, unwilling to chance being shot (not that he hasn’t survived bullet wounds before, but something tells him Steve shoots to kill).

 

“Three months and you didn’t move in sooner?” he asks with his signature smirk. “Tony got his location and I took him out the same day. Looks like Red Star are slacking.”

 

“Clint,” Tony says, a note of warning in his voice. He knows that Clint wouldn’t be acting so cocky if he didn’t have a back-up plan, but he’d appreciate being clued in on what it was. If he has to guess, he’s saying that Clint was smart enough to call somebody before he came into the building. Whether or not that someone’s on their way is a different matter entirely, but he can hope.

 

“S’alright, Tony,” Clint assures him. He doesn’t have his bow, only has the pistols hidden under his jacket in the shoulder holsters, but they’ll be found and confiscated if Steve or Bucky have enough wits to pat him down, and he’s not entirely sure he can take them on with his fists without Bucky killing Tony. And if Tony dies, Pepper’ll murder Clint before she sets the entirety of Red Star’s territory on fire. “This doesn’t have to turn into a firefight, fellas. We all put any weapons down, I call my contact with the codeword to call them off, and we talk this out. Nobody’s here to harm either of you, and there’s little reason for you to harm us.”

 

Bucky growls at the time comment, and Steve grits his teeth. “Kinda hard to move in on a guy, when you’re trying to do it, without getting all of his product captured and incinerated. Thanks for that, asshole.” Bucky’s hold on the grip tightens, with poorly concealed rage. That was the third time he had to detox on Sam’s couch, the lack of product meant cold turkey, and yeah, maybe he was still a little sensitive about it. Steve scoffs and cuts his eyes toward where Tony’s pressed up against the wall.

“yeah. Little reason to harm you, except the mole you planted.” And it _hurts_ , to refer to Tony that way, but he’s a little more than heartbroken that he’s staring at the Hunt, in his own fucking territory. In the _gallery_ of all places.

 

 Tony bites back a wounded noise at Steve's accusation, though it hurts regardless of whether he makes it known or not. There's no point in trying to convince Steve that he wasn't sent here to harm him, or find out information, and Tony's really only got himself to blame for assuming that he and Steve could still work, even after he found out about Bucky. He should've known that something which started off as a one night stand could only ever end that way, should have accepted that and moved on, ignored any feelings that arose. It was stupid. He was stupid. And now he's going to be shot because of it, and Clint'll be injured, too, as if dying alone wouldn't be bad enough.

 

"The Hunt has no reason to want one of our own anywhere near _your_ kind," Clint says, and anything remotely close to friendliness is gone from his tone. "We wanted you dead, you'd already be dead. Tony didn't know who you are, didn't know that you were married to Barnes. Hell, I didn't know prior to three days ago. And the only person who does know, doesn't know that Tony's hooking up with you. Hunt members die on your turf, you're looking at a war, Rogers. Given that we've recently taken in more recruits, I'm betting we have more expendable man power than you. Tony's not a mole. Thought he might've actually been doublecrossing the Hunt when I found out about you two."

 

Clint’s dead wrong about manpower, but neither Steve nor Bucky are willing to correct him, because it’s just information that can be used against them in the end. Steve’s about to say something rude, but Bucky cuts across him, glaring down the end of his nose, at Clint.

 

“look, bud. You think I won’t set the entire city skyline on fire, just to see Stevie smile, you clearly don’t know who I am, and I’ll take every man you have down with me.” Steve smiles fondly, as weak as he thinks he can stand to be in front of Clint, who may still be a threat. He sighs, and puts a thumb over the hammer, holding it back while he squeezes the trigger. He eases it back forward, and he flicks the safety again, setting it back down on the table. He holds his hands up in a placating gesture and nods to Bucky to do the same.

 

“How did you end up in our club, Tone?”

 

Tony takes the opportunity to rub his neck the second Bucky's let go of him, though his heart's still pounding against his ribcage and he's not entirely sure that he isn't five seconds away from an anxiety attack. He watches as Clint takes his jacket off, reveals both his pistols, and takes them out one at a time, sets them on the sidetable by the door. It's not exactly surprising he doesn't want to put them on the table nearest Steve and Bucky, but it still makes him look like something of a threat, even if he does raise his hands again afterwards.

 

"Journalist friend of ours told me about it a few months back," Tony says with a slight shrug, doesn't mention Karen by name because she's not involved in this and doesn't need to be. She doesn't know more about the mobs than what her job allows her to uncover. As far as she's concerned, Tony's a technician who works from home. "Night I met you wasn't the first time I'd been in there. I knew it was in Red Star territory, but I'm a behind-the-scenes guy - nobody knows I'm with the Hunt. I didn't... I swear I didn't know who you were, Steve. Only recognized Bucky because I had to sort through some of Jess' old files that caught him on camera. 'm not...I don't ever wanna hurt you, okay?" Bucky disarms his own gun, and steps toward the table, laying the weapon down, beside Steve’s.

 

“step away from the table.” He growls, jerking his head in the direction of the living room. It’s still a tense situation, even if weapons are set aside, and Clint doesn’t exactly look comfortable moving further into the room, so Steve makes a good faith motion, and steps over first. Bucky still looks like he’s a few tense seconds from ripping Clint’s throat out, so Steve hooks a hand under his bicep and tugs him along too. Steve sighs, and pushes a hand through his blond hair.

 

“Sorry for nearly shooting you Tony. Again.” he takes a step closer, keeping his hands visible, and his movements slow, and offers Tony a hand, gently offering to pull him into a hug that they no doubt both need.

 

Tony stares at Steve for a few seconds, watching for any traps, any signs that something's off. He wants to trust Steve, wants a hug, but this - the truth about who he is coming to light - changes things. They're supposed to be sworn enemies, and it wouldn't be the first time one of the Hunt have been killed after a member of Red Star lured them in with false promises of peace. He hates every little thing about this: the guns on the table, the accusatory glare Clint's sending in his direction, Bucky being one wrong move away from killing them both, Steve looking like someone's kicked a puppy in front of him, the fact that the gun Bucky had pressed against his throat is definitely going to bruise. He'll just stick to wearing scarfs for the next couple weeks.

 

"Think I'm getting used to that," Tony says, voice quiet but earnest, and accepts Steve's hand, hugging him tight the second Steve pulls him close. "I was gonna tell you," he adds. "If we decided we wanted to be more than a one night stand. I'm sorry, Steve."

 

Steve can't help the sigh of relief that escapes him, he had been so fucking certain that the brunette wouldn't come to him, wouldn't want anything to do with him after everything. God knows it would serve him right. He buries his nose in the top of Tony's head, pressing a kiss there, and slowly breathing his soft clean scent. When he pulls back, a smile is on his lips.

 

“Don't worry, I'll make sure it isn't a repeat performance. If… if you wanna… be with me still, I mean.” And his chest clenches painfully with the mere idea that he might not. He blushes lightly and scratches at the back of his neck, looking down. “I also… um. I have a few confessions to make, to you, and, and to Bucky too… because despite what our first night looked like I _swear_ I tell my husband everything.

 

Immediately, Tony's worried. If there's something that's happened in the last three weeks and Steve hasn't told Bucky about it, it has to be bad. He doesn't immediately say anything about that though, instead reaches out to gently lift Steve's chin back up, make him look him in the eyes instead of down at the floor.

 

"Steve, you could've _actually_ shot me, and I'm pretty sure I'd still want to be with you," he says, and he ignores the slight scoff that earns from Clint over by the doorway. "Clint, call your contact and give them the codeword. We're fine here, okay? No one's in any danger, and I'm sure they need more help with the mission tonight. Just...give us some room to talk." Clint hesitates, glances from Bucky to where Steve and Tony are standing, and huffs out a breath.

 

"Fine. But I'm taking my guns with me. You don't call within an hour telling me everything's okay, Stark, I will bring the wrath of both Heaven and Hell down upon this place," he says, grabbing his guns off the table and putting them back in his holsters, leaving the same way he came in. With a smile, Tony looks back to Steve.

"Alright, you wanna tell me and Barnes what you have to tell us now, or you wanna talk about it later?"

 

Steve smirks when he sees Bucky's jaw tense at Clint's comment about the wrath of heaven and hell. He's not sure exactly what words his husband's trying to keep behind his teeth, but he knows him well enough to know that whatever it is, it isn't nice. Once Clint's gone, Steve sighs and presses a gentle kiss to Tony's cheek.

 

“Now. I just… just wanna get it out of the way. Living room?” When no one openly objects, he leads the way to the cozy living room, and plops down on the couch. He leaves spaces on either side of him but the armchair is also straight across from it. He very nearly loses his nerve. He said he'd confess, and he meant it, but damn was it hard. He sighed and dropped his head to stare at the floor, fingers resting not so comfortably in his own hair. “I… I've been using drugs, the last three weeks. More than weed, I mean.” He says softly, closing his eyes against the weight of his statement.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> poor boys are so awful at communicating. but look at that, all their biggest secrets are out there, and now we can start healing! feel free to yell at me on Tumblr, @theJovialkynnadyg-ray! I'm ever so friendly! Chapter five, cough syrup, will be out Febuary 6th!


	5. Cough Syrup

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Baby.” Steve says in the most wrecked voice he thinks he's ever heard. “Don't you dare leave me, James, don't you leave me! This isn't the end of the line!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright. first things first. this chapter is... major. there is graphic description of a opiate based overdose here, I will warn you if this is triggering to you, or if you are in an addict in recovery, tread /carefully/. this was triggering for me to write. feel free to head over to my tumblr @thejovialkynnadyg-ray if you want to ask questions or if you want me to explain a bit more about what happens. 
> 
> this chapter of this fic is posted on 2/6/2018 (mostly. it's after midnight for me, but it still counts) because today is 60 days clean and serene for me. if anyone reading this is in recovery, I'm proud of you.

Bucky glances over at Tony, like he knows any more about this than Bucky did. Tony shrugs slightly, chooses to sit down in the armchair when Bucky takes one of the spaces beside Steve—despite his brief encounters with drugs, Tony’s area of expertise related more to alcohol and its draws, so he figures it’s best to leave this one for Bucky to field. “Stevie,” he says, low and careful, and Tony might be reading into it too much, but he swears Bucky sounds hurt. He moves to take Steve’s hands in his own, but doesn’t try to make the blonde look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me, doll? You know…Honey, I would’ve helped you, kept you away from it. I don’t…I don’t want you going through what I go through.” Tony tries not to contemplate the very real possibility that his lack of a call for the past three weeks had something to do with this. It seems a little egotistical to think that he drove a guy to drugs, and he figures there’s something bigger that pushed Steve that far, even if the lack of contact aggravated it a little. “What did you take, Steve?” he asks, voice quiet. He’s seen Jessica go through rehabilitation programmes after any falls she has, but he doesn’t know jack-shit about how to help a person other than being there for them.

 

 

The fact that Bucky says ‘go’ not ‘went’ isn't lost on Steve, and it physically hurts, to hear it. He keeps his voice carefully low, and his eyes directed to the floor. “cocaine…” he says carefully, figuring it best to start with the least of these, and work up from there. Buckys already hurt, and the end of this list is going to feel like a personal attack. “... To start with. But that didn't… it worked its way out of my system quicker than I wanted, having to take a second bump pissed me off, so I went to h-heroin.” he sighs and shakes his head, pushing forward because Tony may not care about the next bit but he knows Bucky will want to know. “freebasing, and because I'm a selfish stupid jackass… Mainlining, after that.” The silence is awkward and heavy, and Steve tightens his grip on Bucky's hands, and wills himself not to shake.

 

 

 

Bucky makes a wounded noise in the back of his throat, rubs his thumb over Steve’s knuckles. He can’t…He doesn’t exactly know what to say. He wants to yell, wants to tell Steve that he’s seen what drugs can do to people, seen how they’ve affected him, but he also wants to run from this conversation. It’s not exactly a pleasant one, even if he knows it’s necessary. And he has so many questions. “Where did you get the needles?” he asks, and he tries to keep the combined anger and worry out of his tone. It doesn’t exactly work. “Steve, I…I’ve made sure that the loft and our home’s clear of that shit to deter myself from relapsing; how did you…who gave you the drugs? Who gave you the needles? Heroin’s…” He trails off with a harsh sigh. “Last time I used it, I wound up in the hospital, Stevie. Did you know any time you shoot up with it, you risk an overdose? Higher chance than some of the other drugs. You could’ve died, Steve. You could’ve…” He trails off again, but only because there’s a lump in his throat that he can’t speak around. He really doesn’t want to contemplate having to exist without Steve, doesn’t think he’d be able to. “It’s good you’ve told us,” Tony says when he realises Bucky doesn’t intend on continuing his train of thought. “We can…we can watch out, keep you from doing something stupid. I’ve done it enough times for Jess. And I can help you out, too, Barnes, if you…if you want to try getting clean.”

 

 

That's... A surprisingly sweet offer. It's nice, not something Bucky gets typically, but he doesn't know what to do with it right now so he makes a vague hand motion that's meant to denote 'thanks, we'll talk about it later.' Steve sighs and it's a heavy, tired thing. “I know, Buck, I know you did, I'm sorry. New kid…” he sighs again, and bites his lip, trying to find the best way explain this.” new kid, wade. Ran across him movin’ product on my side of town, busted him, told him to scram. He uses, so he had the needles on him. I took it when I confiscated the rest of his stuff.” he trails off for a second, and his eyes flick over to Tony nervously. His grip on Bucky's hands tightens almost imperceptibly. “I didn't think about it until… there was a one night stand… That redhead I went home with the first time? Two and a half weeks ago? I… He uses, it… Kinda started from there.” he sighs and addresses the floor specifically for fear of looking at Tony. “which is what I needed to tell you. There have been… Others.”

 

 

Tony’s upset at that admission, of course he is, but he’s pretty certain that he knew, deep down somewhere, that he probably wasn’t special. Getting a confirmation on that hurts more than he’d care to admit, but he can push aside his own feelings for the sake of remaining the level-headed one in the conversation, because Bucky makes a noise that Tony can’t put a name to at Steve’s confession, takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Others,” Bucky repeats, slowly, like he can’t quite remember the meaning of the word. Or like he doesn’t want to believe it. “You…Steve, we talked about this after I found him—” He nods in Tony’s direction— “here. You’re…I’m fine with the one night stands if you tell me about them, Steve. I’m just…I don’t like finding out after the fact.” Steve had enough decency to tell him about the redhead, yes, but he hadn’t heard about anything after that. Probably would have put the pieces together if he hadn’t been too busy suffering through withdrawal himself, at Sam’s place. Again, Tony takes a different approach. “Were the needles clean?” he asks, because it’s pretty damn important that Steve gets tested if he doesn’t know or can’t say for sure. “Did you…” And, God, this hurts to ask, and he knows he doesn’t have any right to feel hurt, that Bucky’s the one who holds that, but still, “The one night stands, did you use protection?”

 

 

 

Steve makes a wounded sound, something not unlike a sob and hangs his head. “There was… there was one. I… I was so fucking blitzed, I dropped X at the club, and I thought... I thought it would be ok.” Steve's eyes are closed, and his eyelids flutter softly. “I took too much, I… it was only once and I… I've been...tested.” he sighs and shakes his head, still unable to look at either of them. “I'm clean. And...the needles, the needles we're always clean, I never shared.” Bucky narrows his grey eyes and fixes them to a point on Steve's forehead. “That ain't all of it.” He knows his Stevie, he /knows/ when he lies, or when there's something eating at him and the lack of eye contact is telling. “Steve?” “I... I got tested at the hospital. When... I... I overdosed, Bucky, I'm /so/ sorry.”

 

Bucky stills, tenses to such an extent that it’s visible to Tony, and he lets go of Steve’s hands, stands up, runs a hand through his hair before he looks back down at Steve. His movements are jerky, and Tony wants to stop him from leaving because he knows how much that’ll hurt Steve. Tony doesn’t move, lets him say his piece. “You overdosed and I /didn’t/ know about it? How could…Steve, how could you not tell me? How didn’t…Why didn’t anyone contact me? I’m—I thought I was your emergency contact.” He sounds betrayed more than anything else, definitely not as angry as he could. Tony doesn’t know if that’s a good or a bad sign. From what he’s already gathered, Steve and Bucky’s relationship has withstood a lot, but that was because they always talked to each other, told each other everything, the good and the bad alike. “I’m…I need to clear my fucking head,” he adds in a mutter, stalking out of the room. He grabs his gun as he passes the table, doesn’t bother picking up his coat before he’s out of the loft, bad weather be damned. “He’ll come back,” Tony says softly, because he’s not sure whether Steve wants physical comfort or not. Hell, he’s still not sure where the hell they stand, but now really doesn’t seem like the time to question that.

 

 

Steve can't keep back the tears then, even though he's biting his lower lip hard enough that it's definitely bleeding. The sound of the loft door shutting is enough to crumple him, and he drops his face into his hands, muffling a curse, and a shout. When he finally looks up, his face is tear-stained and red. “Can… do you hate me?” It seems like such a pathetically stupid question, but Bucky's gone, and apparently he took the rest of Steve's strength with him. Nothing is certain now.

 

 

Tony makes a distressed noise in the back of his throat. That’s not something he ever wants Steve to think, that he hates him because he’s fallen into bad habits. Pushing himself up out of the armchair, he ends up kneeling on the floor in front of Steve, reaches up to try and brush away some of the tears falling from Steve’s eyes. This…This isn’t something he ever wants to see again. He doesn’t like how quickly he’s become attached, but he hates seeing how hurt Steve is, and his heart aches with each beat. “Steve, sweetheart, I could never hate you,” he says, and though his voice is gentle, it leaves no room for arguments. “And Bucky doesn’t hate you either, alright? He’s upset and, said it himself, he needs some time to clear his head so he won’t say something he doesn’t mean. He’s left so he can gather himself and not hurt your relationship, okay? And you…You just need some help, Steve. You’re not…This isn’t your proudest moment, sure, but you can still build yourself back up, and I’m gonna be here every step of the way, making sure you don’t relapse. But I could never hate you, honey. Promise.”

 

 

Steve nods and slumps against Tony. “I… I know I was wrong. I know I shouldn't have, I swear to God I never meant to hurt you, /either/ of you.” He sniffles pathetically and bumps his forehead against Tony's. “And I am clean. They gave me an antibody test and I demanded a viral load test. I'm... I promise I'm good.” And isn't this an embarrassing conversation to have? Isn't this something he never wanted to tell Tony? Never wanted him to look down on him. How the might have fallen.

 

 

“I believe you, honey,” Tony says, tilting his head ever so slightly so that he can give Steve a soft kiss. If there’s ever been a point where Tony was most motivated to create a time machine, it would be now. He just wants to go back and tell his past self to just get Steve’s number. Would’ve been a whole lot easier to avoid this if he had been there to prevent it. “You didn’t hurt me intentionally, and I know you wouldn’t hurt Bucky intentionally, and he’ll come back, and he’ll forgive you.” Tony takes a breath, pulls back and stands up from where he was kneeling on the floor, taking Steve’s hands in his as he does. “C’mon. You’re not…We’re not having any talks about us while you’re like this—we need to get you into bed, and you need to get some rest.”

 

 

 

Steve sighs softly. He wants to argue, really he does, but he's so fucking exhausted, he feels like he hasn't slept in something like thirty years, and the idea of actually being able to close his eyes without being convinced the world's ending, or without the artificial aid of chemicals… yeah, it sounds nice. He rises off of the couch on unsteady feet, and sighs like a man weary from the world, which isn't at all far from the truth. He weighs his next words carefully, tasting them in his mouth before he allows them to leave his mouth. “Will you… will you stay with me?”

 

 

Tony rises with Steve, gives a soft smile at his question. He knows that he should probably refuse, that Clint'll only worry if he spends the night with Steve, and that Pepper will murder him if he misses more work than is reasonable, but he also knows that Steve definitely needs somebody to be with him right now, both to prevent any potential relapses and to ensure that he doesn't slip into a negative mindset in general. Tony has to wonder if this is what Rhodey felt like when Tony was stuck in the midst of his alcoholism. Regardless, he gives a slight nod. "Course I'll stay with you, Stevie," he says, and he's not entirely sure that he's only talking about tonight. "C'mon." He tugs Steve gently out of the living room, towards the bedroom because he apparently remembers where that is. He only lets go of Steve's hand once they're in the room, pulls off his sweater before he moves to undo his jeans, because he is most definitely not sleeping in them.

 

 

Steve shucks down to just boxers without thinking about it and rubs at his eyes with both hands. He throws the covers back with absolutely no flourish, and smiles at Tony nervously. It's the first time that they'll share a bed together in a way that's as innocent as it is. It's almost enough to cause him nerves. It feels… significant in a way he can't quite label or quantify. Standing beside the bed all night isn't really an option either though, so he carefully gets into bed, reaches for his phone on the nightstand and sends Bucky a text, telling him that he and Tony are sleeping here. He adds a gentle request asking him to come back, but it sounds pathetic, so he deletes it before deciding the text sounds too clinical and adding a simple 'i miss you.’ he sighs and plugs the phone in before turning the light off and rolling over to look at Tony. In the still and the quiet darkness, everything between them feels heavier. He squirms for a minute before finally looking into honey-brown eyes and sighing quietly. “There's one other thing I didn't tell you that I should've.”

 

 

Tony’s pretty sure that, after tonight, he’s going to adopt an unfront and honest policy with all of his friends. Just…tell them the majority of things they need to know about what he’s doing and why, because this is one hell of an emotional rollercoaster and he’s not entirely sure when it’s going to end. Lying in bed with Steve is nice, yeah, and he doesn’t particularly mind the lack of sex because it means they’re…something. They’re something more than just a one night stand, and it looks like they might actually talk about what that means in the morning, or whenever Bucky returns, but he doesn’t want to hold his breath. Also doesn’t want to risk getting himself excited about the possibility of a relationship only for whatever Steve has to say next to ruin it. So, Tony swallows against the lump in his throat, scoots a little closer to Steve because the distance between them feels gargantuan. “What’s up, Stevie?” he asks, and he tries to keep his expression level and open, give Steve a way to know that he’s not going to be judged. Tonight has been a lot, Tony’s not going to lie, but he’s still unwilling to give up on something that could be great just because Steve’s fallen down.

 

 

He sighs softly, his heart pounding in his head, and takes a deep breath, letting the words spill out before he can stop them. “I was in love with you from the first time we slept together.” He swallows thickly and his eyes flick back and forth between Tony's, like he's studying any part of him for rejection. It's… A lot, he knows that, but waking up a John Doe in the hospital scared the shit out of him. Even if it terrifies Tony, he wants him to know their time was special to him. Precious.

 

 

It takes Tony a few moments to properly process what Steve’s just said. It’s…It’s a big thing, he knows that, and the annoying little logical part of his brain is insisting that it can’t be true, that it takes longer than that to fall in love with someone, that studies have shown—He blinks, tries to get his thoughts in order, cuts the logical part off because he’s pretty sure logic doesn’t have a place in the loft right now. So, he allows a smile to tug the corner of his lips up, and he leans forward to give Steve a gentle kiss. He doesn’t know how Bucky’ll react, doesn’t think he /wants/ to know how Bucky’ll react, but he’s willing to find out. When he pulls back, it’s with another smile and a quiet, “I love you, too, Steve. And I really am sorry about the three weeks between then and now; I should’ve…I should’ve just asked for your number.”

 

 

Steve shakes his head and rests his forehead against Tony's scooting close enough to eliminate most of the space between them, and wrapping an arm around him, holding him close. The feeling of knowing that his feelings are reciprocated, it's… remarkable. “you don't have to apologize. I should have given it to you. I should have tried harder to find you. Given you more time before I lost hope. Stayed… Stayed off smack when I did… “ a little wave of guilt washes over him briefly and it hurts, it hurts so /bad/, but he pushes through it, because it's worth it. “I know it's… Early. I know it is. But… I've never felt as connected to anyone as you, except Bucky.

 

 

Tony looks at Steve for all of a single heartbeat, considering what he’s saying. If he’s gotten any impression off of Bucky in the past couple of encounters, it’s that he’s willing and ready to murder anyone who so much as attempts to hurt Steve, and being in a relationship with him would certainly leave a lot of room for risking hurt. Tony’s not exactly looking forward to the shovel talk he’s no doubt going to receive—that’s if Bucky doesn’t skip the ‘talk’ and go straight for ‘shovel’—but he knows he can be careful and considerate if it means not hurting Steve. He knows he can manage to not fuck this up. “If a hacker doesn’t want to be found,” he says slowly, “you’re not going to find them. The Hunt was compromised a few months back, and we’re all off the grid at all times, save for any field operatives. I didn’t…Steve, no matter how hard you looked for me, you wouldn’t have found me, alright? That’s got nothing to do with you. So, I do have to apologize.” He pauses, then, “But we can talk about it more in the morning. You need sleep, honey, and I’m not going anywhere.”

 

Steve wants to argue, wants to spend the entirety of the night up just starting at Tony, taking comfort in this thing they have, asking him stupid questions and learning everything about him, but he yawns Midway through the first word and yeah, maybe they could use some sleep. He cups Tony's face softly and kisses the breath out of him, before smiling dopily and snuggling into the pillow. “G’night baby.” He says softly. He's asleep before he hears the reply. **

 

Bucky is fine. He's tired, and he's nodding off, but he feels good. Great. Better than yesterday for /fucking/ sure. He stumbles up the stairs, and he falls into the doorway on the way in, but it's hysterical that a guy as quiet as him can't manage to keep his footing about him, and he has to stifle quiet Snickers, as he unlocks the door. No one's in the living room, so he moves to the bedroom. He's gonna be pissed if they're fucking. They didn't talk about this. Why didn't they talk about this? He can't remember. He's...so tired. He trips over a pile of something in the doorway, clothes it looks like, but Tony and Steve are asleep under the covers, and very clearly /not/ fucking so that's. That's good. Small favors. Bucky steps closer slightly and notices that Tony's stirring. “Good morning, sunshine!” He stage whispers loudly.

 

 

Tony makes a ‘humph’ noise as he rolls over, takes a second to notice that Steve let go of him at some point during the night, except technically it still is the night. One glance at the clock informs him it’s four in the goddamn morning, and he’s five seconds away from just pulling Bucky down onto the bed with them to get him to shut up before he wakes Steve up. He doesn’t do that. Sadly. In the end, he pushes himself up onto his elbows so that he’s in an odd half-sitting position, and raises an eyebrow at Bucky. He looks noticeably dishevelled, even in the dim light coming through from the start of the sunrise, and Tony can’t really see his eyes, but the mere way he’s holding himself is familiar. Jess, Tony thinks absently, and then he takes a deep breath because that means Bucky probably isn’t one hundred percent sober, and that’s never good. “Bucky,” he says, slow and careful, sure to keep his voice quiet so he doesn’t disturb Steve, “you okay? You wanna come sleep for a while?”

 

 

Bucky laughs. Quietly, thank fucking God, but for a long time. He shakes and shivers with is, and it's… unsettling, honestly. Probably. He isn't sure. “I bought this place for him, y’know that?” He nods for emphasis. “When we got married. I proposed here. You… you just invited me into my own bed. That's hilarious!” He takes a step forward and his consciousness drops off for a second and he stumbles. “I can't see shit in here!” He turns on a dim lamp in the bedside table. Steve stirs but doesn't wake and Bucky sighs wistfully, focusing his eyes on him. “He's beautiful… he really is.” Bucky blinks, slowly, and it becomes apparent that his pupils are definitely pinned.

 

 

With a half-hearted sigh, Tony nods his agreement. “Yes, Bucky, he’s very beautiful,” he says, and he tries to keep any signs of being angry out of his tone. He’s not angry at Bucky, doesn’t think he could bring himself to be angry at someone who’s so clearly going through a hard emotional time, but he’s definitely angry at himself for not stopping Bucky from leaving earlier. Tony climbs out of the bed, points at where he was just lying next to Steve. “You, take your shoes and your jacket off and get in. I’m gonna go grab a glass of water for when you wake up, okay?” He doesn’t wait for a response, brushing past Bucky to get to the kitchen and figure out where the hell Steve keeps the glasses. Under different circumstances, he’s sure that he’d be self-conscious about walking around in his boxers in front of his boyfriend’s—is that what Steve is now?—husband, but he sincerely doubts Bucky will remember half of this in the morning, so he’s not too worried about it.

 

 

Tony,is a little shit. Bucky's decided. He keeps telling him what to do in his own house. Steve's… own... house. Whatever! It's irritating. He sits down on the edge of the bed and unlaces his shoes before kicking them off. This bed is so so soft… He closes his eyes, just for a minute, just for a second or two. He's gonna give Tony a piece of his mind when he gets back in here, he's going to say everything he's been holding back for the last three weeks. But for now, a nap… He dreams, briefly. Of Steve when they were younger. Of the way it felt when he looked at him /that/ way. The flutter in his chest feels almost real even now. But it never hurt like this, did it?

 

 

Tony finds the glasses after checking five different cupboards, and decides that Steve needs to rethink his interior design choices for the kitchen. Or maybe think about investing in signs for each section. That would go a long way to helping in times like this. He lets the tap run for a second, makes sure the water’s cold before he fills it three-quarters of the way up so that Bucky doesn’t end up spilling it on himself and, if he does, there’s less to clean up. When he pads back into the bedroom, he raises an eyebrow at the way Bucky’s sprawled across the bed. One leg’s still on the floor, and it doesn’t even look like he managed to get that shoe off. With a sigh, Tony sets the glass down on the bedside table and kneels down to tug the shoe off, moves his leg so that it’s properly on the bed, and decides that it’s probably best if he sleeps on the couch for the next few hours. Steve and Bucky both need rest, and Tony’s still young enough that sleeping on a couch won’t feel like hell for the next week. Still, he runs a hand through his hair, sets about pulling the blankets back up over Steve where they’ve fallen down because it’s cold out and the last thing either of them need is to come down with something. “You’re both gonna be the death of me,” he mutters, to no one but himself.

 

 

The dreams drift away slowly, as Bucky sleeps. What's usually a calm peaceful rhythm of his chest rising and falling turns to nothing but...well, nothing. He still completely as his respiration falls that much lower. Steve squirms, as Tiny readjusts the blankets and something, who knows what, makes him open one eye slowly tiredly. “T-Tony?” He mutters, voice rough with sleep and disuse.

 

 

“Hey,” Tony says, keeping his voice quiet. “Don’t worry, I was just getting a glass of water for our late-night visitor over there.” He nods in Bucky’s direction, doesn’t really look over at him before he leans down to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. It’s only when he pulls back that he actually looks over to Bucky, and he’s seen Jess when she’s high enough to notice immediately that something’s off. “Bucky?” he asks, leans over Steve to poke Bucky’s arm. When that doesn’t get so much as a mumble, he raises an open palm over Bucky’s mouth and nose, feels the slightest hint of air ghost over his skin, and it means he’s still breathing at least. “Steve, get his—get his head back. I think he’s—/shit/—I think he’s overdosing.” Tony grabs his jeans from where they’re lying in the doorway, takes out his phone and dials 911. Even if this isn’t an overdose and is just a false alarm, he’s still going to be insistent that Bucky gets checked out by a doctor.

 

 

“son of a /bitch/!” Steve progresses from 'functionally not a person’ to 'wide the fuck awake’ in something like a 2.5 interval. He's moving as fast as he can, laying Bucky out, and making sure his airway is as free as possible. Once that's done, he's vaulting out of the bed, making for the closet as quick as he humanly can. There isn't a lot in the closet here to be honest, there's some clothes, from all the nights he's spent here, and there are a few boxes he's never sorted from the last time they cleaned the main house. None of that is what he's looking for though. His hands are frenzied, knocking things over, until he finds a small wooden box that he rips open-- breaking the latch in the process but oh fucking well-- to dump it's contents. It's a tiny thing, all things considered, the plastic device he has in his hand, but it's big in every other way. His hands fumble as he rips the sterile packaging away, and gets back in the bed, straddling Bucky's hips. “Tony, tell dispatch he's had narcan, 4mg nasal spray!” He shouts iut without looking. No time. he puts the plastic applicator into Bucky's nostril, depresses the button, and prays. “Come on, baby, come on.” He mutters lowly, panic settling in his gut firmly. It's entirely possible, give his history, that Bucky is gonna need more than one dose, but Steve only has one more, and then they're fucked until Ems arrives.

 

 

Tony tells dispatch what Steve shouts to him, resists the urge to roll his eyes when the lady on the line tells him that not panicking is key here. She asks him to stay on the line until EMS arrive, informs him that the nearest on-patrol ambulance is only one minute away, and Tony wonders which god is watching over them tonight. The bad news is she’s giving him more information, maybe hoping to calm him down while Steve works to kickstart Bucky’s breathing again, and the ambulance headed for them is one from the Hunt’s territory. He knows, logically, that the nearest hospital is in Pepper’s terf, and that she might try to murder both Steve and Bucky if she figures out who they are, but he also knows he can’t really let that happen. “Steve, nearest hospital’s sided with the Hunt,” he says, hand over the receiver so the lady can’t overhear him. He watches Bucky’s chest, waits for a rise, doesn’t get one. “Forty-two seconds until EMS arrive,” he mutters, glancing over to the clock again.

 

 

Steve nirs at Tony's words, concerned but completely unable to do anything about it. He's not going to deny Bucky the care he desperately needs because he wants to avoid a turf war. He rips open the second spray, and uses it, praying to every God he can think of, that this isn't how he loses his husband. Bucky stirs, just briefly, just a minor thing, and his breathing slowly picks up. Steve's just about ready to go boneless with relief, when Bucky gasps, and blinks his eyes open rapidly. “Baby.” Steve says in the most wrecked voice he thinks he's ever heard. “Don't you dare leave me, James, don't you leave me! This isn't the end of the line!” Abstractly, Steve's aware that it's been longer than Tony said. The ambulance hasn't shown up, and that seems wrong. Part of him wants to worry, to obsess about that, but most of his conscious mind is laser focused on Bucky, who groans pathetically, and shakes his head. Steve's opening his mouth to ask what he needs, when Bucky pushes him off of his hips roughly, and leans over the side of the bed, retching and heaving.

 

 

Tony makes a face, somewhere between panic and his usual ‘What the fuck am I supposed to do?’ expression, and grabs the wastebasket from where somebody’s left it on top of the dresser. Why somebody left it on top of the dresser is beyond him, but he figures that now isn’t the best time to inquire about that, and puts the basket underneath where Bucky’s currently dry-heaving, so at least nothing’ll get on the floor if he throws up. It’s probably not important in the grand scheme of things, but Tony’s had to clean up after more than one life-or-death event, and it doesn’t exactly help you move on. He faintly hears the sound of the ambulance in the distance as the dispatcher tells him there’s been a slight delay, unexpected roadworks, and that it’ll take another minute and a half to reroute. Tony’s very close to calling Happy and having him take them to the hospital instead—the man has no regard for the law and will break every speed limit he needs to if it means Bucky doesn’t die. Feeling a little useless just listening to the dispatcher telling him to remain calm, he turns to Steve instead, “What’re we supposed to do? Another minute to wait, I’d say three minutes to the hospital itself if we’re lucky, six if we’re not. Is that—Can we afford to wait that long?”

 

 

Steve nods, detached from the entirety of the situation by now. Buckys skin is pallid and clammy, he looks like death warmed over, and by now he's shaking violently. Steve knows this song and dance. “we should be fine as long as he doesn't lapse back into not breathing. He's going through withdrawal now, because he needed two hits of Narcan.” Bucky groans, and turns bloodshot eyes back to Steve. “Stevie… It’s not… I'm alright now. I don't need the hospital, I just need a little bump to get me by, just one hit to get ridda the shakes, baby, c’mon.” Steve makes a broken sound, something that's halfway between a whine and a growl. “Bucky, you've done this before, you know it gets better you know it does.”

 

 

Tony can hear the ambulance pull up outside, hangs up on the dispatcher and moves over to place a gentle hand on Steve's shoulder. Part of him trusts Steve to not give into Bucky's requests, to be stronger than that, but Tony's thought that about himself before and caved when it came to helping Jessica. "Steve, honey, go bring the paramedics up, okay? You know more about what's happening to him that I do, and you'll be able to help explain it better. I'll stay here with him, make sure nothing happens. Leave him for ten seconds to go help the paramedics, okay?" Bucky makes a wounded sound where he's lying. "I don't need the hospital, Stevie," he repeats, though everything about his demeanor points to the opposite being true. "It's in the Hunt's territory, baby, you know what'll happen if they find out I'm there." "I have favours I can call in," Tony says immediately. He doesn't particularly want to out his relationship to Pepper, knows that it's a one-way trip to being suspected of being the mole, and maybe he won't even make it back to check that Bucky makes it through. But he knows that losing Bucky would kill Steve, and he can't have that. Can't stand the thought. "Friends in high places. They'll make sure you're protected, Bucky."

 

 

Steve looks torn, honestly torn, between going and staying but hell he has to do something for Bucky right? And the longer he's staying here, the more and more he feels like he's inching toward that something being grabbing the needle and the Rock he has and giving it to Bucky just to stop the pain. He whines and rises out of bed, shoving his legs into his Pyjamas before running for the stairs to grab the paramedics. Bucky whines and writes on the bed. “why do you have to do this to us, huh? We were happy, Tony! Happily married for six years!” it's not fair not by a long shot but Bucky feels like his brain is melting and he's angry no matter if it's fair or not.

 

 

Tony stays standing where he is, a good few feet away from where Bucky's lying on the bed. That hurts, of course it does, but he's pretty sure that Bucky doesn't mean it, that he's just lashing out because he's in pain and is probably scared. Definitely scared. So Tony knows he could be a jackass and point out that he's calling in favours and pulling strings to save Bucky's life, or he could not do that and try to be a compassionate human being. In the end, he shifts his weight from one foot to the other, listens to the footsteps coming up the stairs. "I wouldn't have slept with him if I knew he was married, Barnes," he says, and he's pretty sure he means it. Open relationship or not. "I wouldn't have left the club with him. If you don't want me talking to him after this, I'll stay the fuck away from him, but you're going to the hospital regardless. I have people who can protect you. You're gonna be safe."

 

 

Bucky groans and shivers harder than he thinks he ever has. His teeth clatter, and he's pretty sure his bones are seconds from shaking apart. He can't even  find the strength to answer Tony, let alone tell him that he's the one Steve's been calling out for in his sleep the last three weeks. Steve leads the paramedics upstairs, straight to Bucky. He hangs back by the side while they check his vitals. His eyes are still pinned, and his blood pressure is elevated unsurprisingly, but he's stable enough that they can transport him on a regular gurney, no backboard. Not that he doesn't put up a fight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It works if you work it, and you die if you don't, so work it, 'cause you're worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> So, so far, this fic is ringing in at 18k words though I'm going to be publishing in smaller chunks. you're in for a bit of a ride, I'll be updating on Thursdays, or Fridays, IF there's an interest. 
> 
> Feel free to come scream at me on Tumblr @thejovialkynnadyg-ray


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